The Ties that Bind
by CatS81
Summary: The discovery of a child's skeleton leads Boyd and the team to a vicious killer...
1. Chapter 1

**The Ties That Bind**

Thursday, 5pm

Laura Turner had been watching the kettle boil for what seemed like an eternity. She followed the steam with her gaze as it finally began to rise from the spout, its swirling motion leaving damp trails across the kitchen window. Sighing, she poured the water into her waiting mug, the scent of jasmine tea filling her nostrils as she did so. She let the sensation overwhelm her briefly, breathing in the calming, Oriental aroma as she surveyed her surroundings. There were boxes everywhere she looked, piled in all corners of the room, each neatly labelled in marker pen, informing her of their contents – saucepans, crockery, cooking utensils, all waiting to be unpacked, to be found places in her new kitchen, in her new house. God, she hated the thought of going through it all almost as much as she had hated packing her life up in the first place. Still, she thought bitterly, she hadn't really had a choice in the matter. _He _had taken that choice away when he'd had the affair. Fourteen years of marriage destroyed in a heartbeat. She felt her own heart constrict at the thought, at the thought of some other woman now living with him in what had been their house but she forced the feeling down into her stomach. _Damn him_. She had wanted to get as far away from him, from them, as possible. A new city, a new life..._disruption for our children. _Guilt welled within her as she thought about his final words to her but the emotion was quickly replaced by anger. _How dare he lecture me on disruption for our children when he's the root cause of it all?! _She took a deep breath and a sip of hot tea, willing herself to calm down. _I swore I wouldn't get like this, I swore..._

"Mum!"

Laura was startled from her reverie at the sound of her son's excited voice as he came running into the kitchen from the garden, his blond hair ruffled, his face flushed. With considerable effort, she forced her thoughts away from her ex-husband and smiled at her son, shaking her head. "Charlie, what have I told you about coming in here with shoes on?"

"Mum, Benny's found something in the garden!" The seven year old was tugging at her hand. "Come and see!"

She sighed, gesturing to the disarray around her. "Oh, Charlie, I've got loads to do here..."

"But it's _bones, _Mum! You've got to come and see!"

Laura looked at her son fondly, his enthusiasm for their dog's find warming her heart. "Benny's always digging up bones, Charlie. Don't you remember in the old house? He was always digging up cat's bones, other dog's bones..."

Charlie shook his head insistently. "These are real bones, Mum, people bones! There's a skull and everything! Come and see!"

_Oh my God_. Laura felt her blood turn to ice at his words and, slipping her shoes on, followed Charlie into the garden hurriedly, her heart thumping, all of her previous concerns forgotten. Their German Shepherd, Benny, was scratching enthusiastically at the earth at the end of the small patch of grass, his eager nose sniffing the ground, his attention focussed on his finding. Laura grabbed his collar, pulling the dog towards her, her other hand covering her mouth as her eyes fell on the diminutive human skeleton, which he had uncovered.

"Oh my God..." She breathed, momentarily transfixed by the gruesome sight, bile rising from her stomach and into her throat as her mind struggled to process what she was seeing. She felt her throat tighten as realisation struck her. _Jesus Christ, it's a child..._

"What should we do, Mum?"

It was Jen, her thirteen year old who had spoken, her elfin face pale as Laura turned to look at her, her features creased with worry. Laura took a shaky breath.

"Get me the phone, love. I need to ring the Police."

Friday, 7.15am

Grace Foley slipped out of her dressing gown and under the hot water of her shower, the powerful jets hitting her skin. She closed her eyes, running her hands through her short, dark blond hair as the water began to refresh her tired body, preparing her mind for the day ahead. Grace reached for her shampoo, the fresh lemon-grass and coconut scents subtly emanating forth as she opened the bottle. She massaged the fragrant fluid into her scalp, smoothing it through the sodden strands of her hair, revelling in the sensation of cleansing her body from the strains of the previous day.

The shrill sound of her telephone ringing made Grace jump sharply and she braced herself against the shower tiles briefly to regain her composure. _Shit_, she thought, pushing the perspex door open and grabbing her towel from its heated rail, pulling it about her dripping body as she padded across the landing and down the stairs to her telephone table. The phone was still ringing incessantly as she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" She said, hoping she had successfully concealed her slight breathlessness.

"Grace, hi."

The deep, familiar voice on the other end of the line sounded remarkably alert considering the time of day.

"Boyd?" She asked, frowning. "Everything all right?"

Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd sighed audibly. "I've just had a call from the CID. A child's skeleton was discovered yesterday afternoon in a back garden in Kensington."

Grace winced. Despite her exhaustive experience as the psychological consultant for the Cold Case squad at the Metropolitan Police, she had never become completely comfortable with receiving such news. "God. And they want us to handle it?"

"Yeah. Their preliminary forensic assessment was that it's been in the ground for a while, so..."

"It's a cold case?"

"Apparently so." He paused briefly. "I'd like your initial thoughts, Grace. Can you meet us at the scene?"

"Of course, yeah, just...give me a few minutes to get dressed, eh?"

"You're not dressed?" He sounded amused as he spoke. Grace could imagine his expression.

She smiled. "You caught me in the shower, in fact."

He groaned deeply and she felt the vibrations against her ear. "Mind my blood pressure, Grace."

Grace felt herself flush unexpectedly at his comment but she recovered smoothly. " I won't be long." She said.

"See you in a bit."

She hung up the phone then, trying not to let her mind dwell on Boyd as she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, pulling her towel more tightly about her rapidly chilling skin

* * *

The garden was a hive of activity when Grace arrived. A white evidence tent had been erected, she assumed by the first forensic teams on site, in order to protect the discovery in the ground from the elements and from scene contamination. At present, it was also partially concealing the huddled form of Dr. Frankie Wharton, clad in her customary protective suit, as she knelt to begin her examinations. Boyd was standing next to her, sipping coffee from a chipped blue mug.

"Hi." He opened as she approached.

"Hi." She replied before transferring her attention inside the tent. "Hi, Frankie."

"Morning, Grace." Frankie's throaty voice was muffled beneath her face mask.

Grace turned back to Boyd, adjusting her scarf to better protect her against the bitter chill of the winter air. "What's the story, then?"

Boyd took another draw from his drink before replying. "Mel and Spence are interviewing the woman and the kids now but the gist is that their dog uncovered the bones late yesterday afternoon. Woman calls the Police, uniforms call the CID, their forensics people take one look and estimate it's been in the ground..." He raised his voice into the tent. "How long did they say, Frankie?"

Frankie looked up from her work. "Well, purely on their initial estimates, they thought about thirty years. I actually think it's more like forty but I'll need to get it back to the lab to be sure."

"Why didn't they take it out of the ground?" Grace asked.

"It's taken a while but we've finally got the CID well trained." Frankie replied. "If they think something's even remotely related to a cold case, they leave the evidence where it is and turn it over to us."

Grace smiled and raised her eyebrows at Boyd. "Out of fear of retribution or words to that effect?"

Boyd grinned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Frankie rolled her eyes at his feigned innocence before continuing. "Anyway, there's some other stuff in here with the bones, Grace..."

"That's why I wanted you to take a look." Boyd said, holding the tent flap back to allow her access as Grace moved in to observe the remains.

She felt her chest tighten as she took in what she was seeing. The tiny skeleton was lying amidst various children's toys - tattered dolls, their clothes long ago degraded, lay next to the remains of a teddy bear and next to that were several books, decomposition having eaten away at the thin leaf pages, giving them a fragile appearance. Grace frowned as she collected her thoughts.

"Well," she said, eventually, "I'd say this child was buried with some care..."

Boyd shook his head as she had known he would. "You don't kill a child and bury them in your garden if you care about them, Grace, surely."

"First of all, we don't know if the person who killed this child is necessarily the same person who buried them or if they even lived here..."

"That wasn't really my point, was it."

"...and second of all, I thought you wanted me to tell you what I think."

Boyd sighed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right."

She gestured to the shallow grave. "You see how the objects have been placed in with the body? They weren't just thrown in, someone took some thought about how to arrange them...probably thought about _what_ to put in as well. I doubt very much that these were random objects, they probably meant something."

"Okay...so, what are we looking at? A parent?"

She shrugged. "Maybe."

He turned his attention to Frankie. "Anything you can get DNA from in there, Frankie?"

Frankie looked up as she gingerly placed one of the books into an evidence bag. "Hopefully I'll be able to get something from the teeth, maybe from the bones themselves. It just depends on how much decay there is."

"What about the objects?"

She shook her head and then blew a strand of chocolate hair from her eyes as it impeded her line of vision. "I wouldn't hold my breath, Boyd. This stuff's been in the ground for forty years, it's pretty badly decomposed."

"All right. Just get it back to the lab as quickly as you can."

"Yep. Will do."

Boyd turned back to Grace. "Let's go and see how Mel and Spence are getting on, shall we?"

Grace nodded, giving Frankie a quick smile before following him back up the garden and towards the house.

* * *

"How long have you lived here?"

Detective Sergeant Mel Silver stood in Laura Turner's kitchen, notebook in her hand as she surveyed the diminutive brunette standing in front of her, her features etched with a worried frown.

Laura sighed. "Just over a week. Hence, the state of the place." She gestured at her surroundings.

Mel smiled sympathetically before continuing. "Do you have any idea who the previous owners were?"

"Not off the top of my head, I'm afraid. I mean, I've got all the documentation from the estate agent and the solicitor but God knows where it is in this dump."

"Would you be able to find the paperwork and get it to us as soon as you can?" Detective Inspector Spencer Jordan asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Laura paused, looking from one officer to the other before speaking again. "Look, what do you think happened? I mean, am I living in a house where a child was _murdered_?"

Spence frowned. "Mrs. Turner, we're obviously at a very early point in our investigation so..."

Laura felt the emotion rise in her chest and knew it was obvious in her voice even as she tried to remain calm. "Inspector Jordan, my children found a child's remains in my back garden yesterday! Have you got any idea what that means for them?! For me?!"

She clamped a hand over her mouth and turned away as she felt tears threaten to overwhelm her, her shoulders shaking. Spence took a breath to answer but was eclipsed by Grace as she and Boyd entered through the back door.

"Mrs. Turner," she said, placing her hand lightly on the other woman's shoulder, "I know yesterday must have been an awful shock for you and your family but...we really will do everything we can to find out what happened here, all right?"

Laura took a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry, it's just...we've all had a rough time of it over the past few months, what with the divorce, moving to a different area..." She trailed off, shrugging.

Grace smiled slightly. "I can understand that. How are the children coping?"

"Not bad, considering. I don't think they've quite grasped the magnitude of all this yet."

Boyd cleared his throat. "It was your son who first found the bones, is that right?"

Laura nodded. "I thought it was animal bones when he said the dog had found something. The bloody thing's always digging bones up."

"But you identified it as human remains?"

"Well, it was pretty obvious once my son had dragged me outside to have a look."

"All right." He paused. "Well, I think that's about it for now, Mrs. Turner. We'll just leave Dr. Wharton to finish up in the garden and then we'll be out of your hair."

Laura looked relieved, a ghost of a smile passing across her pale face. "All right."

Spence spoke up. "If you could get that documentation to us within the next few days..."

She nodded. "I will."

Spence gave the petite woman a polite smile before opening the back door to walk through to the garden, Mel at his heels.

"Thanks for your help, Mrs Turner." Grace said as she turned to follow the others, Boyd's palm flat against her lower back.

"We may need to contact you again…" He said.

Laura gave a resigned smile. "I understand, Superintendent."

Boyd gave a final nod before following Grace out of the door.

Friday, 1.15pm

Boyd strode into the Forensics Lab at the Cold Case Headquarters, pulling on a white overcoat as he did so. He turned his head briefly to check that his colleagues were following him before calling out to alert Frankie to his presence.

"What have you got then, Frankie?"

Frankie glanced up from the metallic gurney on which the recovered bones lay, arranged in their correct anatomical locations. She paused before replying as she waited for her team-mates to assume their customary positions around the evidence.

"Well," she opened, "the remains are those of a female child, approximately five years of age…"

"Cause of death?" Boyd interrupted.

"Best guess would be a massive blow to the head." Frankie replied, picking up the skull in a gloved hand to illustrate her point. "Several massive blows to the head actually. See how her parietal bone is almost completely smashed at the back there?"

"Any guesses about the implement?"

She shrugged, her dark eyes twinkling. "Your guess is as good as mine, Boyd."

"Come on, Frankie…"

Frankie gave a small laugh at his impatience, exchanging knowing smiles with Grace before sobering again. "All right. I'd say…something heavy and blunt."

Spence snorted. "Well, that narrows it down then."

She sighed. "Look, that's all I can say from the evidence that's here. She was killed by something heavy and blunt but it could be anything from a spade to a…rolling pin, for all I know."

Boyd frowned. "Rolling pins aren't that heavy."

Frankie held up her hands, exasperated. "Okay, okay, it was just an example..."

He grinned. "So, what are we looking for? An angry chef?"

Grace looked shocked. "Boyd!" She chastised. "This is a murdered _child_ we're talking about here…"

Her reprimand brought a serious expression back to his face. "Yeah, all right."

Grace shook her head in his direction to show once more her disapproval at his lack of taste before addressing Frankie. "How long do you think the body was there for, Frankie?"

"Well, from the amount of decay…" She broke off and shrugged. "I'd stick with my first estimate. Approximately forty years, give or take a few months."

Boyd spoke again. "Did you manage to get any DNA?"

"Yep, I got lucky with the bones."

"Enough for a profile?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but don't even bother asking if I got a match to anything."

"No national DNA database forty years ago." Mel said, speaking for the first time since entering the Lab.

"Exactly." Frankie replied. "Not to mention the fact she was a child so would have been unlikely to have her DNA registered even if such a thing had existed back then."

"Okay." Said Boyd decisively, turning to address the junior officers. "Mel, Spence, I want you to go through the missing persons' records from about 1960 onwards, see if you can get a potential I.D."

"Right." Mel said, while Spence nodded his compliance.

"There is one other thing." Frankie said, picking up the fragile remains of a doll, which lay next to the bones on the gurney. "The fabric from this doll's clothes were pretty badly decomposed but I managed to run some tests on what I could. The material is saturated with lacrimal fluid…"

"Tears?" Grace asked.

She nodded. "And I managed to extract some DNA. It's a match to the victim's."

"So, the doll belonged to the little girl?"

"Presumably, yeah."

Boyd spoke again. "All right, Grace. See what you can come up with on that score – I want to know what kind of sick bastard kills a child and then buries her with her own toys."

Grace nodded silently, her intelligent mind already racing. Boyd turned to Frankie. "Anything else, Frankie?"

"Not for the moment. I might try examining the site of the wound under different wavelengths, see if I can detect any minute particles from the weapon."

He nodded his approval as he began to walk away from her. "Good. Excellent."

"I can't make any promises though, Boyd." She called after him.

"Just let us know, eh, Frankie?" he shouted back over his shoulder. "Quick as you can."

Frankie rolled her eyes at Grace as Boyd disappeared behind the sliding doors to the clean room. "Why can't he ever finish a conversation while still in the room?"

Grace shrugged. "Pass. Might be to do with his fidgety mind…"

"Ants in his pants?"

The older woman laughed and there were chuckles from Mel and Spence. "Oh, Frankie. You took the words right out of my mouth."

Frankie grinned. "I aim to please."

Grace smiled warmly. "See you later."

Frankie nodded as she returned her attention back to her work, only peripherally aware of the others' as they proceeded towards the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday, 5.15pm

Mel pressed the final photograph onto the transparent evidence board in the main meeting room and then stood back to survey her work, checking to confirm that she had attached all of the relevant information before turning to address her colleagues.

"Right," she said, "Spence and I have been ploughing our way through the missing persons' files from between 1960 and 1965. Now, based on Frankie's estimate that the victim was about five years old, we narrowed the search for missing girls listed as being between four and eight years in age…"

Frankie, who was perched on the edge of a desk, shook her head and interrupted. "She definitely wasn't as old as eight, Mel. There are certain features of the skull that can allow you to pinpoint the age of a skeleton pretty accurately."

Mel turned back to the board and removed two of the photographs. "In that case, then, we can get rid of a couple of these at the outset."

"Good." Boyd said. "So that narrows it down to…?"

Spence stood up from his chair and gestured at the remaining photographs and their surrounding notes, inscribed in Mel's neatly printed handwriting. "In the geographical area we're looking at, five in total."

"Is it probable that the victim was killed in the same geographical area she went missing from?" Boyd asked Grace, who was sitting on the desk beside him.

She nodded. "In all likelihood. Relative Activity Theory, remember?"

"Who could forget the RATs, eh?" He replied, grinning. Grace couldn't help but smile back.

Spence spoke up once more. "Only three of those missing girls were five years old. The other two were six."

"Okay, so let's concentrate on the five year olds to start with."

Frankie nodded her agreement as Mel continued, pointing to the appropriate part of the board to draw her colleagues' attention. "Two of those five year olds were twins, Mary and Susan Hammersmith, from the Kensington area, born 13th October 1959. They were reported missing in November 1964."

"Right, and what about the other one?" Boyd asked, stretching behind Grace to retrieve the mug of tea he had absent-mindedly placed on the other side of the desk when he had taken his position for the briefing.

Mel glanced back at the board. "A Caroline Weston, she went missing from the Westminster area in April 1962…"

"Bit further east, then. What do the RATs say about that, Grace?"

Grace shrugged. "Well, I don't think we should rule her out as our victim, put it that way."

"Especially since we've only got the one." Spence said. "Wouldn't we have expected to find two bodies if twins went missing at the same time?"

"Did they go missing at the same time, Mel?" Boyd asked.

Mel picked up a file from the desk in front of her and checked the written statement before replying. "Yep. 20th November 1964."

"All right. Does Caroline Weston have any next of kin?"

Mel retrieved another file and flicked through the pages, her delicate shoulders sagging slightly as she took in the words. "The file was added to in 1980 when the case was reopened due to her parents' double suicide."

Boyd raised an eyebrow as he directed his next question at Grace. "Guilt?"

"Over murdering their daughter?" She paused, thoughtfully. "I think it's unlikely, Boyd. It's too long a time frame, for one thing."

"Okay. Did she have any siblings, Mel?"

Mel shook her head. "No, only child."

Boyd blew out his breath. "So, a DNA match will be tricky, then."

"Well, unless we manage to track down some of the extended family…" Frankie broke off and shrugged.

"How about the Hammersmith twins, then? What's their family situation?" He asked, taking a sip from the mug in his hand.

Mel turned her attention back to the appropriate file. "Their parents requested the case to be looked at every few years, they were quite persistent, according to this."

"When was the last time the case was opened?"

"Looks like…1992."

"Did they stop after that, then?"

"Well, there's no mention of their deaths so…"

"Maybe they just finally gave up." Grace said, her voice melancholic.

"Hmm." Boyd agreed. "Is there a last known address for them, Mel?"

"Yep. South Kensington."

"Okay. You and Spence go and see if they're still there."

Mel nodded while Spence took a breath to speak. "Are we ruling Caroline Weston out as the victim, then?" He asked.

"Let's eliminate one of the Hammersmiths first. If nothing comes of it, the two of you can traipse through the records and track down any existing members of the Weston family."

Spence grimaced at the prospect. "Sounds like fun."

"Fingers crossed she's a Hammersmith, then." Mel said, with a sideways glance at Spence.

Boyd smiled grimly and shifted his attention to Frankie. "Did you get anything on the weapon?"

Frankie stood up, running a hand through her dark hair as she did so. "Yeah, there were microscopic particulates of metal around the wound site..."

"Enough to analyse?"

"Only to be able to say that it's iron. Particles of iron as well as tiny particles of soil."

"So, what are we looking at, then? Some kind of garden implement?"

Frankie shrugged. "Could quite possibly be, yeah."

"No ideas about manufacturers or anything like that?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, Boyd. The particles just aren't big enough for anywhere near that level of analysis."

"Right, okay." He paused briefly before turning to Grace. "Any thoughts on who we might be dealing with here, Dr. Foley?"

"Well," Grace said, "my initial thoughts are still that we're looking at a parent. It's unusual for a child to be killed by someone outside of their immediate family."

"But it could be a grandfather or an uncle or...?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. The only thing that bothers me is that, if this _is _one of the Hammersmith twins, why someone would kill one and not the other."

"Well, let's wait on that score. We may very well be dealing with Caroline Weston."

"In which case, our prime suspects are both dead."

He grinned. "You'll have to have a re-think, then, won't you."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."

Boyd rose to his feet then, decisively, and addressed Mel and Spence. "Right, let's try and get an ID. As soon as you've got anything regarding the Hammersmith parents, call it in."

The pair nodded and began to gather their belongings as they prepared to leave the building. Frankie followed suit and wandered back in the direction of the Lab while Grace roused herself from her position next to Boyd and walked towards her office. A thought occurred to her suddenly and she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Boyd?"

"Hmm?"

"If this is one of the Hammersmiths, you might have to order an excavation of the rest of the Turner's garden. I find it very hard to believe one twin would have been murdered with the other let go, especially since neither of them have ever been found."

Boyd's expression was sombre. "Yeah. The thought did occur to me..."

"But?"

"I suppose we'll just have to cross that bridge if we come to it. First things first, we need a positive ID"

"I suppose so."

She gave him a small smile then as she disappeared into her office and Boyd watched her retreating back before taking up residence in his own room.

Friday, 6.30pm

Spence rubbed his large hands together briskly in an attempt to rapidly generate some heat for his chilling fingers as he and Mel stood on the doorstep of the assumed Hammersmith residence, waiting for a response from inside. Mel similarly pulled her long coat more tightly about her slim frame and shivered, her breath appearing as clouds of white mist in the tranquil evening air. They both stood to attention then as the solid wooden door opened before them to reveal a tall, slender man with wisps of receding grey hair.

"Yes?" He asked, his forehead wrinkling into a frown in suspicion of the strangers at the entrance to his home.

"Mr. David Hammersmith?" Spence asked, reaching inside his coat to retrieve his warrant card.

The frown deepened. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Detective Inspector Spencer Jordan, this is Detective Sergeant Amelia Silver. We're from the Cold Case Squad at the Metropolitan Police."

The man leant forwards and inspected the proffered identification cards before nodding, apparently satisfied. "What's this about?"

"Can we come in, Mr. Hammersmith?" Spence asked. "We need to ask you a couple of questions."

"About what? What's going on?"

Mel took a breath to answer him but before she could speak, realisation passed over his face and the hue of his skin appeared suddenly unhealthy.

"Oh, my God." He said, quietly. "You said Cold Case Squad…"

Spence took a step forwards. "Sir, if you'll just…"

"This is about my girls, isn't it." He glanced from one officer to the other, their silence confirming his suspicion. "Have you found them?"

Mel shook her head. "We're not sure. A child's skeleton was discovered yesterday not too far from here…"

"Oh, Jesus." His voice was shaking.

"We don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, Mr. Hammersmith." Mel continued, gently. "We just need to ask you a couple of things about your daughters."

Hammersmith blinked rapidly, as if trying to rouse himself to action before standing back to allow Mel and Spence access to his hallway. "Of course…Come in."

Mel smiled gratefully and stepped over the threshold, the warmth of the house a pleasant balm against her skin. Spence followed close behind her and they fell into step behind Hammersmith as he led the way along the corridor to a door at the far end.

"Gwen?" He called as he opened the door and stepped inside.

A petite woman, sitting on a faded, floral print sofa, glanced up at the sound of her name, confusion evident across her delicate features as the three figures entered fully into the lounge.

"David?" She asked. "What's…?"

"These are Police Officers, love. This is…" He gestured towards the pair, as if searching his memory for their names. Spence obliged him by producing his warrant card once more.

"I'm DI Jordan and this is DS Silver."

Gwen glanced from Spence to her husband. "Detectives?"

Hammersmith nodded. "They want to ask us…about the girls."

She looked instantly pained. "But…I thought…They told us all those years ago that the case had been closed permanently…"

"We're from the Cold Case Squad, Mrs. Hammersmith." Mel said, by way of explanation. "We investigate previously unsolved crimes."

"Cold Case?" Gwen shook her head, unable to take in Mel's words, her dark curls moving erratically about her face. "No…they…they told us to assume the girls were dead. We had a memorial service, for God's sake!"

The rising anxiety in her voice caused her husband to step forward and place a hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Gwen. They just want to ask us a few things."

She took a laboured breath as though willing herself to calm down. "What kind of things?"

Spence spoke up. "The thing is, Mrs. Hammersmith…the skeleton of a child was found yesterday afternoon. We're trying to establish the identity."

"Our forensic pathologist has determined that the remains are those of a five year old girl and that she died approximately forty years ago." Mel said.

Gwen raised her eyes back to her husband before looking back at Mel. "But we had two girls, twins. You said you'd only found one skeleton…"

"That's why we need to find out who this little girl is." Mel explained, reaching for the notebook in her pocket. "Now, can you just confirm a few details for me?"

"We'll do our best." David answered.

"Your daughters are called Mary and Susan and they were born on 13th October 1959, is that right?"

The couple nodded silently as Mel continued. "And you reported them missing on 20th November 1964."

"Yes." David said. "They went out to play and never came back. By the evening, we were worried enough to call the Police."

Mel exchanged glances with Spence, knowing that Boyd would want to question the Hammersmiths further, in more formal surroundings if the skeleton was found to be one of their daughters.

"Okay." She said. "Now, what we really need to be able to do is perform a DNA match between yourselves and the skeleton. It's the only sure-fire way of knowing whether or not she's related to you."

"And how do we do that?" Hammersmith asked.

"If you'd agree to come with us back to our Lab, our scientist can take the appropriate samples she needs. It'll just be a mouth swab, nothing invasive." Spence explained, reassuringly.

"The other things that might help are personal effects from your daughters, if you've got them." Mel said. "Hairbrushes or toothbrushes…"

"Well, of course we've still got them." Gwen snapped, sharply, her face flushing as she stood up and exited the room swiftly.

Hammersmith sighed as he followed her with his gaze. "I'm sorry about my wife." He said, apologetically. "It's…Well, we didn't exactly expect this. Not after so many years."

Mel gave a small smile. "I understand. It must be incredibly hard."

Gwen returned to the room a few moments later, several objects of pale pink and yellow in her hands. "Here, their hairbrushes and toothbrushes. They…they loved everything to be colour-coordinated, pink for Mary, yellow for Susan…Oh, God…"

She let out a sob as her memories overwhelmed her and Mel took a step forward, prising the items from the woman's shaking hands and placing them into evidence bags, which she had retrieved from her pocket. David slipped an arm about his wife's waist as her tears fell.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hammersmith. These are ideal." Mel said, softly.

"Do you want us to come with you now?" Hammersmith asked, his attention focussed on Spence even as he attempted to console his wife.

Spence nodded. "If you wouldn't mind. The sooner we can positively identify the little girl, the better it'll be for everyone concerned."

"I understand, Inspector."

Spence led the way out of the room then and towards the front door, followed by the others. Once they were all outside, Mel opened the back door of the car for David and Gwen and then climbed into the passenger seat herself. As Spence started the engine, she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled the office.

* * *

Saturday, 10.15am

Grace strolled into the CCHQ, humming absentmindedly to herself and adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she pushed open the main door to the meeting room. She stopped in her tracks as she noticed the lone figure sitting in the office to her left. Shaking her head incredulously, she tapped gently on the glass pane to get his attention and then leant against the doorframe. Boyd looked up at her over his reading glasses.

"You do know what day it is?" She opened.

He grinned. "Erm…Friday?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "It's Saturday, Boyd, as well you know."

"And…?"

"What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the array of files littering his desk. "Catching up on some paperwork. Besides, I asked Frankie to come in to see if she could get that DNA match."

"Honestly. You're both as bad as each other."

"Well, what are _you_ doing here, then?"

"I just popped in to pick up a couple of books. I'm giving that talk at King's College on Monday morning, remember?"

"I remember. I do listen sometimes, you know."

"I'm impressed."

He smiled and sat back in his chair, surveying her appearance for the first time – a simple dress of a sapphire blue accentuated her gentle curves and a matching jacket was draped about her shoulders. Boyd felt his heart rate increase as he drank her in. "You look nice." He said, simply. _Understatement of the century_, he thought. _She looks bloody gorgeous_.

Grace raised an eyebrow, unable to stop herself from flushing under his scrutiny, despite her best efforts. "Thanks."

"Off out with someone special?"

"It's my daughter's birthday, I'm taking her out for lunch."

Boyd grinned. "She ripping you off for somewhere expensive, then?"

She returned the smile. "Of course. Isn't that what mums are for?"

He blinked, thinking briefly of his own son. "Well, have a good time."

Grace turned to leave then as he returned his attention to his desk but, momentarily, she thought better of it and poked her head around his door again.

"Do you want to get a drink later?" She asked.

He smiled, looking up from his work once more. "Is this a ploy to get me out of the office?"

"Yes." She answered, truthfully. "I know you too well, Boyd. You'll be in here till midnight otherwise."

His smile broadened. "Maybe not midnight…"

"Oh, eleven o'clock, then? You need to take a break sometimes, you know."

He held up his hands in defeat. "All right, you've twisted my arm. A drink sounds great."

"Good. See you in The Crown about eight?"

"See you there."

Grace gave him a final smile before walking away from his office and towards her own to retrieve the books she had come for. Boyd returned to his paperwork, trying not to let himself get distracted by the subtle scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

Saturday, 8.20pm

"Sorry I'm late."

Grace glanced up at the sound of the deep, familiar voice, instantly identifiable despite the constant hum of chatter in the crowded pub. Boyd stood before her, his expression sheepish. Grace smiled up at him from her seated position at the table.

"I'll forgive you seeing as though you've bought me another glass of wine."

He grinned and placed the drinks he was carrying onto the table before slipping into the bench seat beside her.

"Frankie managed to get a DNA match from one of the hairbrushes." He said, quietly, acutely aware of discussing sensitive information in a public place. "She confirmed it using the mouth swabs taken from the parents."

Grace's expression was grim. "So, do we know which twin it is?"

He nodded. "It's Mary, apparently. The mother told us that she'd broken her arm a couple of years before she disappeared, which ties with what Frankie found."

She took a sip of her drink before replying. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Yep. Susan Hammersmith is probably still buried in that garden."

"Exactly."

"I've already requested an excavation for Monday."

"I bet Mrs. Turner wasn't too pleased about that."

"Well, no but it's a necessary evil."

"Have you questioned the parents yet?"

"Not yet. I thought I'd call them in when you're back from your lecture on Monday."

"All right." She paused. "Any other news?"

Boyd shook his head. "I don't think so, not at the moment."

"So, you can actually have an evening off, then? And, shock, horror, maybe actually a day of your weekend?"

He grinned at her teasing. "Look, working today was worth it, don't you think? It was really important to get that kid identified."

"I know but sometimes…Well, you just need to chill out a bit, that's all. Give yourself a break."

" 'Chill out'? I can tell you've been spending your time with youngsters today."

Grace smiled. "Guilty as charged."

"Did you have a nice time?"

"It was lovely. I feel like I haven't seen the kids in ages."

"And whose birthday was it?"

"Gina, my eldest. Twenty seven today, bless her."

Boyd groaned. "God, I remember being twenty seven. Feels like a lifetime ago."

"Tell me about it."

"How old are your other kids now?"

"My son, Nick, was twenty five last month and my baby, Beth, she's twenty two."

He let out a low whistle. "Bloody hell. They were teenagers last time I saw them."

"I know. Time flies."

"You ever think about retiring, Grace?"

She laughed. "What are you implying? That I'm past it?"

He gave her a cheeky grin. "Certainly not. Just an innocent question."

"Well, I think I've got a good few years left in me yet, don't you?"

"How do I answer that without either sounding like an arse-kisser or a grumpy old bastard?"

"Hmm, tricky. Which do you think I'd rather you be?"

"Oh, Grace, please. A question like that makes my head hurt."

"Too intellectual?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, that settles it, then. As long as I can still ask you questions that confuse you, I think I'll stick around for a while."

Boyd smiled broadly, enjoying their easy banter. "Oh, fine. Have it your way."

Grace took another draw from her drink. "How about you?"

"How about me, what?"

"Do ever think about throwing in the towel? Moving to the country and playing golf all day?"

He groaned, loudly. "Oh, God, Grace. Two weeks of that and I'd be in the loony bin."

She laughed. "You have to retire eventually, you know."

"Never. I'll be struggling into the office when I'm ninety with my zimmer and my colostomy bag."

Grace grimaced. "What a lovely picture."

"And you'll be there with a blue rinse and a walking stick."

"Shaking my fist at the younger generations for their lack of respect."

"Exactly. See, no-one can say we don't have a plan for our old age."

Grace's laughter increased, her shoulders shaking. "Growing old disgracefully?"

"Is there any other way?"

They laughed together then, their mutual mirth infectious, each revelling in the company of the other. Grace was the first to recover her sensibilities, her expression sobering.

"Seriously, though. Does it bother you, the prospect of getting old?" She asked.

Boyd shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really think about it."

"I just hate the idea of becoming a burden, you know? I don't want my kids to have to look after me."

"Isn't that the whole point of having kids in the first place? So they can keep you when you're old and incontinent?"

"Well, maybe…"

"And, anyway, I'm sure they wouldn't see you as a burden."

"No, but…They saw how much work it was when I was nursing Jack before he died. I wouldn't want them to have to do that for me."

He smiled. "Then you'll have to find someone else to look after you, won't you?"

Grace raised her eyebrows. "A man, you mean?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Boyd, I don't exactly have them queuing at my door."

"There was that Alan bloke a couple of years back."

Grace looked at him, amazed he had remembered that particular detail of her personal life. "That would never have worked out."

"How come?"

She shrugged. "He didn't respect what I do. Couldn't understand why I didn't have some cushy job in therapy somewhere."

"Well, he probably just felt threatened. Intelligent women can be intimidating."

She looked amused. "Is that so?"

He grinned, mischievously. "Yeah, I'm sure you told me that once…"

"Anyway, it wasn't just that. We didn't have any…spark, any chemistry."

"The earth didn't move, then?"

Grace's eyebrows shot up. "Boyd!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you just asked that."

His boyish grin widened. "It was a fair question, I thought."

"Yeah, one which I'm not nearly drunk enough to answer."

"Well, that's easy to solve. More wine?"

She shook her head. "No, I'd better be getting off, actually."

"Spoil sport." He replied, ignoring her eye rolls as he drained the remainder of his beer. "You need a lift? I've only had the one pint."

"Thanks, yeah."

With that, they both stood up from the table and made their way through the crowds of people towards the exit of the pub.

* * *

The journey to Grace's home was made in a comfortable silence, the lyrical string music emanating from the radio the only sounds in the car. Boyd applied the handbrake as the vehicle came to a halt beside the curb.

Grace smiled in the semi-darkness. "Thanks, Boyd."

"No problem. It was either that or letting you drive and then arresting you for being over the limit."

She laughed. "Can't have that."

"Certainly not."

Grace placed a hand on the door handle and moved to exit the car. "Well, good night. See you on Monday."

"Night, Grace."

Impulsively, he leant over and made to kiss her on the cheek. Grace stifled a gasp when, either by accident or intent, she wasn't sure which, she felt his lips gently graze the corner of her mouth. She pulled away sharply, feeling colour flood her cheeks as her eyes locked with his, the air crackling with electricity between them. Momentarily, instinct outweighed rational thought and she found her mouth pressed softly against his, desire surging through her bloodstream. The kiss was brief, chaste, just a gentle meeting of their lips but Grace felt embarrassment consume her as she broke away and looked down at her hands.

"Peter…" She whispered.

"Grace, I'm sorry." He said, gently, desperately hoping he was concealing his slight breathlessness. "I don't know what happened…That was just meant to be a peck on the cheek to say good night." _But oh, God, I want to taste you again…_

Grace swallowed hard, fighting the sudden sense of disappointment that had risen in her chest. "It's all right. Let's just put it down to a momentary lapse."

She pulled the door handle sharply and stepped out of the car, unable to look at him, unwilling to read his expression.

Boyd frowned, wanting to relieve the awkwardness of the situation. "Grace…"

Grace forced a smile from her position on the pavement as she moved to close the car door behind her. He noted her lack of eye contact with dismay. _Jesus, have we just completely screwed up our working relationship?_

"I'll see you on Monday." She said, quietly.

With that, she turned and walked towards her house, hoping that he hadn't noticed her shaking hands as she reached for her keys. In the car, Boyd sighed deeply and let his head fall against the headrest, his eyes closing as he frowned, his heart constricting as he listened to her fading footsteps.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday, 12.45pm

Boyd leant back in his seat, running a hand through his silver hair as he tried to listen to Frankie, who was speaking at the front of the room. He sighed audibly as his mind strayed once more to Grace. He had been unable to concentrate fully all morning, spending the majority of his time at the excavation site pacing distractedly in an attempt to focus his thoughts on his work and away from his colleague. He sighed again. The effort had mentally exhausted him. Momentarily, he was brought back to the present as he realised that Frankie had stopped talking and that he had become the centre of attention in the room.

"Sorry, Boyd, am I boring you?" Frankie asked, sharply, her brows knitted together in an irritated frown.

He blinked. "What? No..."

"Then you might try listening to what I'm saying. You were the one who ordered that excavation, you could at least pretend to be interested in what I found."

"I _am_ interested, of course I am."

"It's important to the case, you know."

Boyd held up his hands. "I apologise, Frankie. Any chance of a quick re-cap?"

Frankie took a breath to reply but, at that moment, Grace entered the room, a comprehensive array of books and files pressed to her chest and a large bag over her shoulder. Spence, ever the gentleman, quickly rose from his seat to relieve her of some of the heavy load. She gave him a grateful smile and moved to sit beside Mel on one of the desks before Spence reclaimed his own position. Boyd noticed that she had studiously avoided his gaze.

"How did the lecture go?" He asked from his seat across the room, desperate for contact of some description.

"Fine." She replied, her eyes focussed on the evidence board in front of her, ignoring his small sigh at her curt response. "What have I missed?"

"Well," said Frankie, glancing briefly between Boyd and Grace, the tension in their interaction not at all lost on her. "I _was_ explaining the outcome of the excavation but since Boyd's been in a little world of his own today, I'm going to have to repeat myself. So, you haven't missed much, Grace."

Grace glanced towards Boyd briefly at the mention of his distraction but quickly focussed her attention on Frankie once more. Boyd rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and frowned.

Frankie continued. "The bottom line is that, despite an extensive search, Susan Hammersmith is definitely not buried in the Turner's garden."

Grace raised a surprised eyebrow. "Really?"

"Are you sure?" Boyd asked.

Frankie gave him an exasperated look. "Boyd, I had a team of five people scouring every inch of that garden, we must have dug down for at least two feet. If she was there, we'd have found her, no doubt about it."

"So, does this mean she's alive somewhere, then?" Mel asked.

"Not necessarily." Grace said. "She could just be buried elsewhere."

"Is that likely?" Boyd asked, sceptically.

"Honestly? No, I wouldn't have thought so." she conceded.

"Unless they weren't killed together."

"It's more effort for the killer, though, isn't it? To kill one twin in one place and the other somewhere else."

"Could've been deliberate..."

Grace shook her head. "I think we're going to have to work on the assumption that Susan Hammersmith is still alive."

"For now."

"Well, unless you want to search every garden and piece of common land in West London."

Boyd grinned. "I don't know. I think Frankie would relish the chance to dig up half the city."

Frankie groaned but her dark eyes were shining. "They don't pay me enough for that, Boyd. Not nearly enough."

The team laughed briefly before Boyd spoke again. "Okay." He said. "So, top priority, we need to find our missing twin."

"I'll do an electoral role search." Mel said. "I'll start in London and take it from there."

"She might have changed her name." Spence pointed out.

Mel nodded. "Yep. I'll check the marriage register as well."

"Spence can do that." Boyd said, ignoring the younger man's groan of protest. "Grace, you and I need to interview the Hammersmith parents."

Grace felt her stomach tense at the prospect of being in close proximity with him in the interview room but she gave a small nod. "Fine."

"Good. They're coming at two."

She nodded once more before standing up from the desk. "Was there anything else, Frankie?"

Frankie shook her head. "Nope, think that was about it."

The team began to disperse then, with Boyd announcing that he was heading out to buy a coffee. Grace watched him leave with a sigh before disappearing into her office.

Monday, 2.15pm

"So, Mr. Hammersmith, what can you tell us about the disappearance of your daughters?" Boyd asked, without preamble as David Hammersmith took a seat beside his wife in the interview room.

The man took a shaky breath, glancing at Grace before replying. "Well, it was a Tuesday afternoon, I was at work..."

"What is it that you do?" Grace asked.

"I'm an accountant. I worked for BDO Stoy Hayward at the time."

Gwen Hammersmith's head snapped up sharply. "I'm sorry, how is that relevant?"

Grace gave a small smile. "I'm just trying to build up a picture, Mrs. Hammersmith."

Boyd cleared his throat and addressed David once more. "All right, so you were at work when your daughters went missing."

"That's right." He replied.

"And what about you, Mrs. Hammersmith?" Boyd asked.

Gwen sighed, her pale eyes clouding with emotion. "I was at home...with the girls obviously."

Grace took a breath. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Gwen's features contorted as her mind replayed her pain. "It was about half three, I'd just picked the girls up from school. They begged me to let them go out and play and, stupidly, I let them."

"It wasn't stupid, Mrs. Hammersmith." Grace said, gently. "It's easy to look back now and second guess yourself."

"Hindsight's my biggest problem, I'm afraid. The what-ifs and the should-haves."

Grace smiled sympathetically. "Go on."

"There's not much else to say, really. I let them go out on the common land behind our house..."

"Was that something you usually did?" Boyd asked. "Let them out of your sight, I mean?"

Gwen bristled visibly. "What are you implying? That I was some kind of negligent mother?"

Grace gave him a sideways glance, silently imploring him to keep his mouth shut before she replied. "Of course not. Not at all."

"They were only yards from the house. I kept checking on them through the kitchen window every fifteen minutes or so."

"But you didn't see anyone with them?" Boyd asked.

David Hammersmith spoke up, his voice sounding harsh in his throat. "Of course she didn't. Do you really think we'd be in this situation if she had?"

Boyd ignored his outburst, his attention focussed on the woman opposite him. "Mrs. Hammersmith?"

Gwen shook her head. "No. I didn't see anyone. I went out to bring them in about half five and I...I couldn't find them."

Grace's voice was soft as she spoke. "What did you do?"

"I searched all around the area, calling and calling to them. I remember my chest getting tighter, like it was in a vice, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I..." She broke off, her shoulders beginning to shake.

Boyd forced down the rising emotion in his stomach as the empathetic memories of his own son's disappearance washed over him momentarily. "What happened next, Mrs. Hammersmith?"

"I ran back to the house and phoned David at the office."

"She was completely incoherent." David said. "I could barely get any sense out of her whatsoever."

"And when you did?"

"When I did, I phoned the Police straightaway."

"What did you think had happened to the girls?" Grace asked.

David shook his head, sighing. "I honestly didn't know what to think. I didn't know if they'd just wandered off or if someone had taken them."

Boyd took a breath to ask another question but David continued speaking, leaning forward earnestly as his did so. "You've got to remember, Superintendent, it was a different world back then. Children just didn't disappear in the 1950s."

Boyd folded his arms and adjusted his position in his chair, his leg brushing lightly against Grace's as his did so. "I'm aware of that, Mr. Hammersmith."

"So, you can imagine why we were so panicked."

"What did the Police say when they arrived?"

David snorted in contempt. "They hadn't got a clue what was happening. It was a shambles, the whole thing."

"How so?"

"They didn't take us seriously. Just assumed the girls were off playing somewhere."

"When did it become apparent that it was more serious than that?"

"A couple of days later, when the girls still hadn't shown up. It was only then that they decided our daughters were worth their precious time." His voice was bitter.

Boyd let the tension in the room elongate before speaking again. "We're going to need you to review the list of acquaintances you submitted to the Police at the time, see if there's anything you can add."

David looked sceptical. "We told the Police back then that we didn't think any of our friends or acquaintances could possibly be involved in the girls' disappearance. What makes you think that's changed?"

Grace leaned forward, reassuringly. "We don't want to leave any stone unturned, Mr. Hammersmith. This is a murder investigation now."

"Is there..." Gwen's voice was quiet, cracking with emotion. "Is there any possibility that Susan is still alive? You said you hadn't found her body..."

Grace glanced at Boyd, trying to gauge how much information to reveal. He gave a slight nod, silent permission for her to continue. "It's possible, Mrs. Hammersmith. We've got officers trying to trace her as we speak and as soon as they uncover any information, we'll of course let you know."

Gwen's hazel eyes were liquid, her tears threatening to spill over. "It's almost too much to hope for...after all this time..."

David placed an arm about his wife's shoulders, squeezing gently. "When can we have Mary back, Superintendent?"

"As soon as we've completed our forensic analysis. It's hard to give a time-scale..."

"We want...no, we _need_ to bury her properly."

"I understand that, Mr. Hammersmith but...her remains might just lead us to her killer. It's important that we get everything evidential from her."

David looked as though he was about to argue the point but then his shoulders slumped in resignation. "All right. Just do whatever you need to do."

"We'll treat her with the utmost respect." Grace said, gently. "Please be assured of that."

David nodded slowly as Boyd continued, beginning to rise to his feet and indicating that the couple opposite him should do the same. "I think that's all we need for now." He said, leading them from the interview room and along the connecting corridor.

"How long will it be, Superintendent, before you know anything?" David asked as they walked towards the building's exit.

"It's impossible to say. As soon as anything new comes to light, we'll be in touch. And, obviously, if we need to ask you any further questions..."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"Thanks for coming in." Grace added. "We appreciate how difficult this must be for you both."

The couple gave sad smiles before pulling open the door and stepping through it. Boyd let out his breath and leant against the wall.

"What do you think?" He asked Grace, her body mirroring his against the opposite wall.

She sighed deeply. "I don't know, Boyd. My instinct is that they didn't have anything to do with it; the disappearances or the murder."

"Do you think they know more than they're telling us, though?"

"It's possible."

"Lying?"

"No, not lying. It was a long time ago, remember. It's likely they might have forgotten the minutiae."

Boyd shook his head. "A situation like that, Grace, you remember everything with a vivid and haunting clarity. Believe me."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah."

There was an elongated silence between them then before Boyd, sensing his chance, took a tentative breath to speak once more. "Grace..."

Grace's expression told him that she knew what he was about to say and she began to walk away from him, down the corridor. "I need to get back to work, Boyd."

He strode after her, determined to clear the air between them, his voice low as he spoke. "About the other night..."

"It's fine."

"It's not. You can barely look at me."

She sighed. "Let's just leave it, all right?"

"I want to explain." He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her walking and reluctantly she came to a standstill beside him, her gaze on the floor.

"This is hardly the time or the place, Boyd."

"I know. I just...I..." He faltered, running a frustrated hand through his hair. _I can't stop thinking about you..._

"It was a mistake." She said quietly. "A slip. Isn't that what we agreed?"

"Did we?"

Grace became acutely aware that his hand was still on her shoulder and she swallowed, unable to meet his eyes.

"Grace, will you look at me? Please?"

She sighed, shaking her head, wishing her heart would stop pounding in her chest. "Let's just leave it." She repeated, her voice sounding firmer than the idea felt in her mind. _I don't want to hear you say you don't want me..._

She broke away from him then, desperately needing to put some distance between them, and she walked back towards her office, trying to ignore his deep sigh as she did so.

Wednesday, 11.15am

"I think I've found her."

Spence looked up from his computer at Mel's excited exclamation and he grinned at the evident delight on her face. "Thank God." He said, sounding relieved. "If I'd had to call up one more set of records, I think I might've put my fist through the screen."

"Sounds like I got there just in time, then. Can you imagine the look on Boyd's face if you'd have done that?"

Spence laughed. "I'm trying not to."

Mel returned his grin before getting up from her chair and walking towards Boyd's office. She tapped gently on the door, poking her head inside.

"Boyd?" She said. "I think we've found Susan Hammersmith."

"Well, it's about bloody time." He replied sharply, standing up from behind his desk and marching out into the main meeting room, a proverbial black cloud about his head. Mel followed behind him, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she did so.

Grace appeared moments later, responding to Boyd's loud barking of her name as he moved past her office.

"So, Susan Hammersmith's alive, then?" She asked Mel, who had moved to the front of the room, pen poised to add her notes to the board.

"Yep." Mel replied. "Only she's Susan Peterson now. She married a Barry Peterson in 1977..."

"Current address?" Boyd interrupted.

Mel consulted her notepad. "Just north of Birmingham."

"So, where was she between her disappearance in 1964 and her marriage in 1977?" Grace mused.

"And where's she been since 1977?" Boyd added.

Mel shook her head. "There's nothing else I could find, Boyd. It's like she dropped off the planet between the dates of significance."

"What does that say to you, Grace?" He asked, shifting his focus to the older woman.

Grace looked thoughtful. "Well," She said, "either she kept a low profile because she didn't want to be found..."

"Because she knew something about her sister's murder?"

"...or she's been forced to keep a low profile by whoever abducted her."

Boyd turned back to Mel and Spence. "What do we know about the husband?"

"On the marriage certificate he's listed as a builder..." Mel replied.

"Any more recent info than that?"

"I'll get onto it." Spence said, turning reluctantly back towards his computer.

"What about Susan, then?" Boyd continued. "Any occupation, kids...?"

Mel picked up another paper from the pile in front of her. "One daughter, Louise, born 1977."

"Before or after the wedding?" Grace asked.

"Erm...after, it looks like. But only by a couple of months."

"Why's that relevant?" Boyd snapped, frowning at Grace in apparent irritation.

Grace held up her hands wearily. "Just trying to build a picture, Boyd. It wouldn't be the first time a teenager was forced into marriage because of pregnancy."

"So that could say something about the husband, you mean?"

She shrugged. "Or the husband's family. Or her own family, for that matter."

"You think they might be lying about not having seen her all these years?"

"I don't know. It's a possibility."

Boyd paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he considered what their next move should be. "All right. Grace, I think you and I should head to Birmingham, speak to Susan and the husband..."

Grace frowned, trying to quell the anxiety in her stomach at his suggestion of a long journey together. "You wouldn't rather have them come here?"

He shook his head. "Not at this stage, no."

"We're just going to drop in on them, unannounced?"

Boyd grinned. "Isn't that always the best way of ensuring more honest responses to questioning?"

She raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to your usual methods?"

"No torture, Grace. I promise I'll be gentle."

Mel and Spence laughed loudly and Grace felt herself smile along with them, despite unbidden images exploding through her mind of Boyd displaying gentle behaviour in an altogether different activity.

"Mel, Spence – background on Barry Peterson. Everything and anything."

The junior officers nodded their acknowledgement before Boyd turned to walk back towards his office, looking over his shoulder as he realised Grace wasn't following him. "Well, come on, then."

She looked at him incredulously. "We're going now?"

"Why not? There's no time like the present, is there? And we'll have missed the rush hour on the M1 by now."

"I suppose so."

Boyd continued towards his office, she assumed to pick up his car keys and jacket.

"I guess I'll see the two of you later, then." She said to Mel and Spence, trying not to dwell on the prospect of a car journey with the very person she had been attempting latterly to avoid. "I wouldn't wait up..."

Spence grinned. "Does this mean we can skive off early, then?"

"On your head be it, Spence."

His dark eyes were shining. "What's life without a little risk, eh, Grace?"

Grace laughed. "Not worth living if he finds out you've spent the afternoon in the pub instead of glued to your computer."

"He'll be _super_-glued to the computer if I have anything to do with it." Mel said, fixing him with a mock menacing stare.

"Teacher's bloody pet, you are." He retorted, grinning widely.

"I'll see you later." Grace said, leaving them to their light hearted bickering as she followed Boyd out of the office and towards the car park.

Wednesday, 1.30pm

Grace stared out of the window, watching the scenery blur, the colours merging together, trying to block out the memory of the last time she had been in Boyd's car. He had been unusually quiet thus far in the journey, leaving her ample time alone with her thoughts, which seemed to skip haphazardly of their own accord between her musings about the case and her complicated feelings for the man sitting to her right. She sighed softly, letting her head fall back against the head rest. _This is ridiculous_, she thought, _I'm fifty three years old, for God's sake, far too old for all this nonsense..._

"What are you thinking about?" He asked suddenly, breaking her from her reverie.

She blinked, trying to force her thoughts back to coherency. "Hmm?"

"You're very quiet. I told you before, when you stop talking, I get worried."

"Well, you shouldn't. Worry, I mean."

"Why not?"

"Because I was just thinking about the case, that's all. Trying to get my head around it."

He gave her a brief sideways glance, trying to gauge her frankness. "And?"

"Well, it's weird..."

"There's that technical psychological term again."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

Boyd smiled. "Of course I do."

"I was going to say that it's weird if what happened was that one person killed Mary and abducted Susan."

"Why?"

"Because if the twins were together, like their mother said, and someone grabbed them, don't you think it's more likely that both of them would have been killed?"

"Rather than singling out one, you mean?"

"Yeah. It doesn't make sense."

"Unless the guy had been watching them and decided he liked one better than the other."

"Maybe..."

"Not likely?"

"I don't know. I'm inclined to think more than one person was involved in this."

"Working together?"

Grace frowned. "What, you can kill that one if I can abduct this one, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah. Choosing favourites and then deciding what to do with them."

"Possibly. I suppose that fits with them disappearing at the same time."

"You think we should keep the father in the equation?"

"I don't think we should necessarily rule him out. Not yet anyway."

They lapsed into another silence then before Boyd took a breath to speak once more. "That it, then?"

She eyed him curiously. "Is what it?"

"Have we exhausted all of your theories on this case?"

"What do you want me to say, Boyd?"

"I don't know. You're not usually so reticent about providing me with a profile on a suspect."

"I'm not sure I've got enough information yet to construct one. Besides, if there are two people involved, it makes it much more complicated, particularly if they had different tastes, as it were."

"Delicately put."

She gave a slight smile. "I have my moments."

His grin was broad. "You definitely do."

Grace felt her stomach leap at the insinuations in his words but she kept her voice even as she changed the subject slightly. "When we get there, Boyd..."

"I know what you're going to say, Grace. You want to lead the interview."

She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for an argument. "I think it might be best. Susan's been through a massive trauma in her early life, it's possible she'll have repressed some or maybe all of that experience, she might..."

"I agree with you."

"...be in denial..." Grace's voice trailed off incredulously. "You what?"

"I agree you should lead the interview. You might be able to get more out of her at this stage in the investigation than I will."

She shook her head, unable to quite believe what she was hearing. "Bloody hell, Boyd."

He smiled across at her. "You thought you'd have a battle on your hands there, didn't you?"

"Well, don't I usually in this type of situation?"

"Something to do with the domineering nature of my personality? Alpha male syndrome?"

Grace laughed. "Have I stepped into the twilight zone, Boyd? Since when did you start assessing your own personality?"

Amusement coloured his own tones as he spoke once more. "Look, I can be sensitive and touchy-feely, Grace..."

"I don't believe it."

"...I just can't necessarily be like it all the time. Something to do with maintaining an air of authority."

"Ah, that's what it is."

"Yes. Nothing to do with an inherent need to appear like an arrogant arsehole."

Grace laughed loudly, enjoying the banter that she knew had been lacking from their relationship since several nights previously. "I wouldn't have used the word 'arsehole', Boyd."

He grinned. "Of course not."

"I've never called you that, have I?"

"Not to my face, anyway."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "You don't really think that, do you?"

"What?"

"That I say things behind your back."

"Well, I assume the others do..."

"I've known you a long time, Boyd. I think we've gone beyond the stage of being two-faced, haven't we?"

"No bitching with Frankie and Mel in the ladies' loo, then?"

"Well, not about you, at any rate."

He laughed, sobering gradually over several moments. "While we're being touchy-feely, Grace..."

Grace looked suddenly serious and she sighed, returning her attention to the sights passing her window, desperately trying to avoid his gaze. "Don't, Boyd. Please."

"I just wanted to say...that I...I don't like the tension, Grace. It's not good for our working relationship or for the team."

"I agree..."

"So, if the only way you think we can get past it is to forget about what happened the other night, then that's what we'll do."

"I don't see that we've got much other choice, do you?"

He took a deep breath. "I can think of one."

"It wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Because if it all went wrong, Boyd...Imagine what that would do to our working relationship and the team."

He sighed. "I know."

"So, can we agree to leave it as it is?" _A one-off kiss that made my nerves tingle and left me aching for more..._

"If you think that's best."

"I think it has to be. And I don't think we should talk about it again, all right?"

He tried to lighten the mood with his words. "A woman and a psychologist who doesn't want to talk? That's got to be a first."

She forced a smile though her throat was painfully constricted. "I'm serious."

He smiled back, sadly. "I know you are."

The rest of the journey was passed in a melancholic silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday, 3.30pm

"Mrs. Peterson?"

The door had opened to reveal a woman of fragile appearance with short dark hair. She blinked, confusion evident on her face at the presence of the strangers on her doorstep.

"Yes?" She answered, slowly. "Can I help you?"

Boyd reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his warrant card. "I'm Detective Superintendent Boyd from the Cold Case Squad of the Metropolitan Police." He gestured towards Grace, who smiled reassuringly towards the woman. "This is my colleague, Doctor Grace Foley."

"What? I...I don't understand." The perplexed frown had deepened on her forehead, creasing her delicate features.

"You _are _Susan Peterson?" Boyd asked, needing confirmation before continuing.

"Yes..."

"Formerly Susan Hammersmith?"

"I...I don't know, I...have memory problems." Her voice was trembling slightly.

Grace took a small step forwards. "It's all right, Mrs. Peterson. We've just come to ask you a few questions about a case we're working on."

"It's about your sister." Boyd added.

Susan shook her head firmly. "I don't have a sister. I think you must have the wrong person."

She closed the front door suddenly, leaving Grace and Boyd standing, bemused, on the doorstep. Boyd raised his eyebrows. "Well, that was a good start."

"You _are_ sure we've got the right house, Boyd?" Grace asked, frowning.

"I'm sure, Grace. She said her name was Susan Peterson, didn't she?"

"And you're certain she used to be Susan Hammersmith?"

Boyd's expression was scathing. "Look, I trust Mel, don't you? I'm pretty sure she knows how to do background research by now."

Grace sighed. "Yeah."

"So, what was that all about, then? Claiming she doesn't have a sister?"

Grace paused thoughtfully before replying. "She said she has memory problems, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, what if she just can't remember having a sister? It's possible that the trauma of what happened to them caused her memories to become buried deep within her subconscious."

Boyd looked sceptical. "Hmm..."

"It happens, Boyd. I've seen it myself."

"All right, so what do we do, then?"

Grace knocked on the front door as she spoke. "If at first you don't succeed..."

"Give up and go to the pub?"

She smiled at his quip as the door opened once more. Susan Peterson appeared before them, sighing at their persistence in front of her house. "I told you, you've got the wrong person, Superintendent."

Boyd shook his head. "I don't think so, Mrs. Peterson. If we could just ask you a few questions, I'm sure we can get this cleared up."

"I don't know what more I can say. I don't have a sister so there's nothing to discuss."

"Please, Mrs. Peterson." Grace's voice was soft. "We just want to talk to you. You're not in any sort of trouble."

Susan glanced between the faces of her visitors, sensing their sincerity, feeling herself beginning to relent. "Let me see your IDs again." She said.

Boyd and Grace obliged and she studied the cards for several moments before speaking again. "All right. Just for a few minutes, then."

She opened the door wider, gesturing for them to step inside and follow her down the corridor towards the lounge.

Wednesday, 3.45pm

Mel leant back in her chair, rubbing a hand across her face and pushing strands of golden hair from her tired eyes. She glanced at the clock, groaning as she registered the time. _Not nearly the end of the day and already I want to go home... _Researching background information could sometimes be brain-numbingly tedious although, Mel knew, it was an essential part of the job. She looked up then at the sound of the door being pushed open and she smiled as Spence's form emerged into the office, carrying a cardboard tray complete with three large cups of coffee.

"Thanks, Spence." She said as she gratefully accepted one of the tall containers.

Spence held up a finger before reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving a packet of chocolate digestives. "_Now_ you can thank me." He said, grinning.

Mel returned his smile as she reached for the biscuits. "You're a God-send."

"Ah, you've finally realised it. It's only taken you, what, four years?"

"Better late than never, eh?"

She picked up the phone next to her then and dialled Frankie's number, informing her of the arrival of their essential supplies. The forensic scientist appeared moments later, sinking into a chair beside Mel and taking possession of a coffee.

"So, come on then, Frankie." Spence opened.

Frankie frowned. "Come on, what?"

He gestured at the snacks littering the desks. "Well, Mel said I was a God-send. How're you gonna top that?"

She grinned widely, prising a biscuit from the packet. "Ooh, I dunno. _Can_ you top 'God-send'?"

"I'm sure you can think of something."

"Sorry, Spence. My brain's worn out."

Mel groaned sympathetically. "I know the feeling."

Spence took a gulp from his coffee cup. "How d'you think Boyd and Grace are getting on?"

Mel shrugged. "Depends whether he lets Grace get a word in edgeways, doesn't it."

Frankie grinned. "I think Grace can hold her own where Boyd's concerned, don't you?"

"True enough." said Mel, smiling.

"Well, I hope she manages to get something out of Susan Peterson. She's the only real lead we've got." Spence said, licking melted chocolate from his fingers.

There was a brief silence in the room then, each alone with their thoughts as they sipped their drinks. Eventually, Frankie spoke again, thoughtfully. "Can I ask you two something?" She said.

"Fire away." Spence said. "As long as it's not 'what _exactly_ did you get up to on that stag weekend?'"

Frankie smiled. "I wouldn't dream of asking that."

"Well, what then?"

"Well, is it my imagination or...Well, Boyd and Grace..."

Spence frowned, unsure of the question his colleague was posing. "What about them?"

"Don't you think there's like...an atmosphere between them lately?"

"What are you talking about, Frankie?" Spence's face was creased in confusion.

Frankie shrugged. "I don't know, really. It's just something I've started to notice in the way they interact. Different to how they act around the rest of us."

"They've always been like that, haven't they?" He asked. "I mean, they're contemporaries, aside from the fact he's not her boss in the same way as he is ours."

Frankie shook her head, displacing short strands of dark hair from the clips that held it back from her face. "It's more than that, Spence. I just can't quite put my finger on it."

Mel, who had thus far remained silent, took a breath to speak. "Do you think they see each other? Outside of work, I mean."

Frankie raised an eyebrow. "You mean, are they seeing each other?"

Spence gave a short laugh, looking incredulously between his two colleagues. "You've got to be joking!" He exclaimed, loudly.

Mel frowned at him. "Why? Is it such a ridiculous idea?"

"Come on, Grace and Boyd?! Don't you think she could do better?"

She shrugged. "It's her decision, isn't it?"

Spence turned to Frankie. "Do you think this stuff as well? Or is it just a blond thing?"

He grinned mischievously at Mel, who had thrown a biscuit at his head. Frankie took a slow sip from her drink before replying. "Would it be such a bad thing, Spence? They've both had difficult lives, what's wrong with them having a bit of happiness?"

"Nothing." He replied, brushing crumbs from his clothes and still smiling at Mel's glare. "I just doubt they've found it with each other, that's all. They're way too different."

"What's that age-old adage about opposites, again?" Mel quipped, sarcastically, her bright blue eyes twinkling.

"Oh, that's bollocks." He said. "You've got to be at least a _bit_ similar for it to work. Grace and Boyd are polar opposites."

Frankie shook her head. "Not opposites. It's more like she's...his counter-balance, Spence."

Mel sat forward, her body language displaying her enthusiasm. "Exactly, Frankie. That's exactly what she is."

"And whether or not they're seeing each other, the bottom line is, he needs her. Whatever he might think or say."

Spence let out his breath and looked once more between the two women. "You two have thought about this way too much."

Frankie exchanged grins with Mel. "Women's prerogative, Spence."

He shook his dark head, collecting up the debris from their break and walking towards the bin on the other side of the room. "I still think you're wrong." He called over his shoulder.

"Well, why don't you let us do the thinking and you stick to buying the coffee and biscuits?" Frankie retorted playfully as she began to retreat back in the direction of the lab.

"After all, you do it so well." Mel added, laughing.

"Women." Spence muttered under his breath as he strolled back towards his desk and his mountain of paperwork.

Wednesday, 4pm

"So, what did you want to ask me?"

Susan Peterson had led Boyd and Grace into a large living room decorated in neutral, earthy tones, and gestured for them to take a seat on the plush cream sofa, which stood against the far wall. Grace took a breath to reply, silently imploring Boyd to keep to his word about allowing her to lead the interview.

"Well, first of all, I wanted to explain to you a bit about what we do in our work." She said, ignoring Boyd's raised eyebrow at the oblique nature of her response.

Susan frowned. "How does your work affect me?"

"We work on what's called 'cold cases', meaning cases which, up till now, haven't been solved. Sometimes, we get a request for a certain case to be re-opened or new evidence is discovered and then we try our best to bring it to a conclusion."

"I still don't see how...I mean, how can one of these 'cold cases' be anything to do with me?"

"Last Thursday, a child's skeleton was discovered in a back garden of a house in London." Boyd said, gently. "Our tests revealed its identity as Mary Hammersmith, a little girl who went missing in November 1964."

A look of realisation passed over Susan's face and her eyes widened. "Hammersmith...when you came here, you asked me if that used to be my name, didn't you?"

Grace nodded. "Mary Hammersmith went missing, along with her twin sister. Her name was Susan."

"And you think...that's me?" Susan asked, her voice almost a whisper, her skin suddenly pale.

"From the research we've done," Boyd said, "yes, we do."

"But, I...surely I'd remember if I had a twin! And wouldn't I know who killed her if this is all true?" She took a strangled breath, her agitation evident as she spoke.

Grace held up her hands, a placating gesture. "Not necessarily, Susan. It's possible that what happened to you was so terrible that your mind is hiding it from you, to protect itself."

"Is that possible?"

"Absolutely. It's called 'repression' and it's an incredibly common psychological condition."

"It just doesn't seem…How could I forget my own sister? My_ twin_ sister, at that?" Her voice had taken on tones of distress as she spoke.

Grace gave her a small smile. "Why don't you tell us what your earliest memory is, Susan?"

Susan frowned, concentration apparent in her expression. "I was a teenager, living here with my boyfriend…"

"Is this Barry, whose now your husband?"

The younger woman nodded. "He says I was sixteen when we first got together so I suppose that's probably as far back as I can remember."

"You don't have any recollection from before that? Any memories of your parents, for example?"

"No." She said, quietly. "Nothing at all."

Grace paused briefly, searching Susan's face, her body language, for any hint of deception. Satisfied, she nodded. "Okay, Susan. Can you tell us how you and Barry met?"

Susan smiled. "He rescued me. I was living on the streets and he brought me to live with him here."

"You remember that?"

"Well…, no, but he's told me how it happened. Without him, who knows what my life might have been like."

Grace nodded, her eyes flickering briefly to Boyd, trying to gauge his reaction to Susan's words. "So, what would you say your first memory is?"

"Erm…a birthday party, I suppose it would've been my sixteenth."

"And it was here?"

"Yeah. I remember a huge chocolate cake with pink candles…" She smiled wistfully at the memory.

"And how's your memory of everything after that point?" Grace asked.

"Fine." Susan replied. "It just seems to be my early memories I have trouble with."

"So, everything's clear in your mind from your sixteenth birthday party, up until now?"

"Yes, perfectly."

Grace continued. "Tell us about your wedding."

Susan gave a small smile. "It was a lovely day, all things considered."

"How do you mean, Susan?"

"Well, I…I wasn't too keen to get married, to start with, I mean I was only eighteen but Barry…well, he insisted. Because of the baby and everything."

Boyd spoke up. "Would you say he forced you to get married, then?"

Susan shook her dark head vehemently. "No, not at all. He would never have forced me. I suppose you could say he talked me into it." She smiled. "And it took him a while, Superintendant, we didn't get married until I was seven months pregnant with Louise."

"Does Louise still live here, Susan?" Grace asked.

"Oh no, not for years now. She moved out when she was seventeen."

"Any particular reason?"

Susan sighed heavily. "She never really got on with her father."

Boyd's interest was suddenly piqued. "How so?"

She shrugged. "She just didn't. You know what it's like…teenage girl, relatively old father…"

"Relatively old?" Boyd repeated.

Susan nodded. "He was forty three when she was born."

"So, that makes him…twenty five years your senior, is that right?"

She shrugged once more, her slender shoulders rising and falling. "I suppose so. I've never really thought about it, it's never been an issue between us."

Boyd exchanged a surreptitious glance with Grace, wondering if she was thinking the same as he was. "We'll need to talk to your husband, Mrs. Peterson." He said.

Susan frowned, her defences rising. "Why?"

Grace took a breath, thinking fast. "Because we need to talk to everyone who's in any way connected to you or your sister." She said. "Especially your husband since he might be able to tell us something about the years after you went missing."

The younger woman's shoulders visibly relaxed at Grace's words. "Yeah. I suppose that's true."

"What time does he usually come home?" Boyd asked.

"He's away at the moment, Superintendent, on a job. Doing up some posh house down south."

"What is it that he does?" asked Grace.

"He's a builder and carpenter. Renovates old houses, that sort of thing."

"Is he self-employed?"

"Oh, yes. He's got his own company, has done for years." She said, smiling.

"What's the name of the company?" Boyd asked, sharply, interrupting Grace as she made to speak once more.

" 'Bricks and Mortar'..." Susan looked suddenly suspicious. "Look, what is this? Why the sudden interest in my husband?"

Grace held up her hands, hoping to calm the younger woman. "It's all right, Susan. It's just routine background information, that's all."

Her expression had darkened. "Well, it doesn't sound routine to me. It sounds like you suspect Barry of something."

"We're just being thorough." Grace said, reassuringly. "We're not accusing anybody of anything."

"Good. Because Barry hasn't done anything wrong."

"We still need to speak to him, Mrs. Peterson." Boyd said, taking a business card from his pocket and handing it to her. She examined it slowly, turning it over in her fingers.

"When are you expecting him back?" Grace asked.

"I'm not sure." Susan replied, cagily. "Sometime over the next few days."

"Will you call us when he arrives?" Boyd asked. "It really is important that we speak to him as soon as possible."

She sighed, getting to her feet, implying that her visitors should do the same. "Fine." She said, weariness in her voice. "Now, I've really got to get on, Superintendent."

"One other thing," Boyd said, standing simultaneously with Grace, "would you consent to us taking a DNA sample from you? It's just so we can verify your identity and confirm your relationship with Mary Hammersmith."

Susan's pallor visibly paled. "A blood sample?"

Grace smiled. "No, Susan, just a mouth swab. They don't let Policeman use needles on people, as a matter of course."

Susan laughed nervously as Boyd retrieved the sterile kit from his pocket and performed the procedure, lightly scraping the inside of her mouth. He thanked her as he and Grace began to follow her from the room.

Susan paused at the front door, her expression pained as she looked at Grace, her dark eyes reflecting her fragile emotional state. "Are my...are my parents still alive, Doctor Foley?"

Grace blinked, slightly surprised by the suddenness of the question. "Yes, they are."

Susan swallowed, trying desperately to regain control of the torrent of emotions across her chest. "Will you tell them about me? That you've found me?"

Grace's blue eyes were soft. "I think they'll want to know, Susan."

"I don't know...I don't remember them..."

"It's not too late for you to become re-acquainted with them, you know."

Susan gave her a watery smile. "I hope not."

Grace smiled back as she and Boyd stepped out onto the pavement, the door closing behind them. Neither spoke until they were seated in their car, Boyd exhaling deeply and letting his head fall back against the head-rest.

"We need to find the husband." He said, eventually.

Grace's body mirrored his unconsciously, her head angled towards his. "You think he's involved in all of this somehow?"

"Well, don't you?"

She sighed. "Yeah. I'm just not sure how. I still can't resolve the fact that Mary was killed and Susan was kidnapped."

"You don't think Barry Peterson just took more of a liking to Susan than to Mary?"

"I don't know, Boyd. I just don't think it's as simple as that."

"Well, whatever, we need to find him, Grace. And I'm not sure I trust Susan to contact us when he comes back."

"She's certainly very defensive of him. It's almost hero-worship in a way, she sees him as her saviour."

"Is that justified?"

"It might be. For all we know, he _did_ rescue her from a life on the streets."

"I don't think you believe that any more than I do."

Grace smiled. "I'm keeping an open mind, Boyd."

"I'll ask you again when we've brought him in for questioning."

"How are you going to find him, then?"

Boyd pulled out his mobile phone, a grin spreading across his face. "That's where the kids come in."

Grace shook her head, trying to keep from smiling at him. "Don't you think they're doing enough digging at the moment?"

"Oh, they love it, Grace."

"You might try giving them enjoyable tasks every so often, you know. It's called motivation."

Boyd frowned, as if trying to recall something from memory. "Motivation? Nope, don't ever remember learning that word."

Grace batted his leg playfully and rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

His grin broadened. "They're good kids, Grace. They'll just get on with it, whether they like it or not, and then we can move on with this case."

She regarded him with her head on one side, her smile creasing her eyes. "You sound like a proud father."

"With you as the overly concerned mother?"

She laughed, warmth spreading across her chest. "God, I feel sorry for our kids."

"Oh, don't. They've got the best parents they could ask for."

Grace's mirth was infectious and it was several moments before either regained their composure. Eventually, Boyd's expression sobered as he used his mobile phone to dial the office.


	5. Chapter 5

**First of all, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update this!! I have a lot going on right now so not much time for writing unfortunately. My second apology is that this is such a short chapter – I promise I will write more soon! Thanks to you all for your patience with me, hope you like it :)**

Thursday, 4.15pm

"Thanks for coming in, Mr. Peterson. We appreciate you getting in touch so quickly."

Boyd was sitting in the interview room, a table separating him from the stocky frame of Barry Peterson, who was sipping from a polystyrene cup of water. Peterson cleared his throat before responding with a casual shrug.

"Well, as soon as my wife called me, I knew I had to, Superintendent. She sounded so worried on the phone."

Boyd raised an eyebrow. "Did your wife give you any indication of what we wanted to see you about?"

Peterson shook his head. "Not really. I could hardly get any sense out of her, to be honest."

Boyd sat back in his chair, folding his arms across the breadth of his chest, trying to gauge the sincerity of the older man opposite him. "Nothing at all?"

"Well, she said something about her twin sister but..."

"But what?"

He shrugged his thick shoulders once more. "It doesn't make any sense, Superintendent. Susan doesn't have a sister, as far as I know."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. I know everything about my wife and, to my knowledge, she doesn't have any family. It's just me and her."

Grace's voice sounded via Boyd's earpiece as he took a breath to speak. "Call on him on that, Boyd. No-one knows everything about their partner, no matter what they claim. Anyway, what about Susan's memory problems?"

He acknowledged her advice with a slight tilt of his head. "That's an odd turn of phrase, Mr. Peterson, 'I know everything about my wife'. Care to expand on that?"

Peterson frowned. "To what extent? All I meant was, I know her very well, I've known her a long time. And surely I'd know something as fundamental as whether she has a sister or not."

"Despite her memory problems?"

"Look, if she had a sister, she'd remember, wouldn't she? Especially if she had a twin."

Boyd sighed loudly, irritation rising in his chest. "Well, the point is, Mr. Peterson, she does have a sister, whatever the two of you claim to know or not know."

"I resent the implication that I'm lying, Superintendent, or that my wife is..."

Boyd shrugged. "That's not my concern. What _is_ my concern is that said sister, said _twin_ sister, is dead, Mr. Peterson. Murdered."

"What?!"

"Her skeleton was found several days ago. She's been dead for approximately forty years."

Peterson blew out his breath, shock registering across his features. "God. That's a lot to take in. You _are_ sure she's Susan's sister? Couldn't there have been some mistake?"

Boyd leant back in his chair and folded his arms once more. "We're sure. What I'm trying to work out, Mr. Peterson...is how you fit in to all of this."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Well, your relationship with your wife for one. It's a bit odd, isn't it, such a big age gap?"

The man's broad shoulders raised and lowered in a shrug. "It's just the way it is, Superintendent. It seems to work for us."

Boyd narrowed his dark eyes. "She was a child when you met her, is that right?"

"Oh, for God's sake, she was hardly a child!" Peterson's voice had risen suddenly in volume, his irritation clear. "She was sixteen!"

"And you were how old? Forty one? What the hell does a forty one year old see in a sixteen year old or is that far too obvious a question?!"

Grace's voice sounded once again, sharp in his ear. "Careful, Boyd. Don't push him."

"I saved her, Superintendent! Didn't she tell you that?! I bloody saved her!"

"Explain that one to me, Mr. Peterson, because I'm not sure I understand it completely. Saved her how exactly?"

"I mean physically saved her! Pulled-her-off-the-street saved her!"

"And dragged her off to live with you, is that it? Tell me how that isn't ever so slightly paedophilic, a middle aged man and a very young prostitute? I'm assuming that's what she was?"

Peterson sighed loudly, frustration forcing itself from his body. "Yes, she was and I took her away from all that. Rescued her. And, no, it wasn't paedophilic in the slightest, our relationship didn't become sexual until several months after I moved her in with me."

Boyd laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, as long as that? Why the hell did it become sexual in the first place, Mr. Peterson? Surely, if you _rescued_ her as you say, you felt a duty of care towards her?"

"I did!"

"And yet you interpreted that as jumping into bed with her?"

"It wasn't like that, Superintendent...it just...it just happened. We fell in love."

Boyd paused, running a hand through his silver hair, the uneasy knot in his stomach tightening. "How did you meet your wife in the first place?"

"I told you. I saved her from the street."

"Yeah, but what the hell were you _doing_ on the 'street'?"

He sighed. "I was doing what most single people were doing. Going to bars and clubs..."

"Picking up young girls?"

"Picking up _women, _from time to time, yes."

"Prostitutes?"

"No." His dark eyes pierced straight into Boyd's. "Never."

Boyd held the older man's gaze, trying to judge the honesty of his answer. "So how did you meet Susan, then, if you weren't meeting prostitutes?"

"I saw her on a street corner. And I...could see how vulnerable she was."

Boyd raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You could tell that just by looking at her?"

"Well, can't you sometimes, Superintendent? Some people just exude vulnerability and she was one of them."

"If you say so. But you're not answering my question, Mr. Peterson. How did you meet her?"

"I just got talking to her one night."

"You just got talking to her one night?" Boyd repeated the man's words slowly, incredulously.

"Yes."

"And how does that translate into you asking her to move in with you?"

He shrugged. "It was a gradual thing. Every time I went out I spoke to her a bit more, got to know her. And finally plucked up the courage to get her away from the streets and her pimp."

"And was she happy about that?"

"Of course she was."

"Did you give her any choice about it?"

"What do you think I am, Superintendent? Why are you trying to make me out to be this evil bastard when all I did in reality was save a young girl from a desperate life?"

Boyd held up his hands. "I'm just trying to make sure all this happened the way you say it happened. It's not as if Susan is capable of corroborating it, after all."

"Well, that's not my problem. I'm telling you the truth, it's the only thing I know how to do."

Grace's soft voice vibrated against Boyd's ear once more, its gentle tonality and proximity distracting him momentarily from her the content of her words. "Hmm, I'm not totally convinced. Challenge him on Susan's amnesia, Boyd. I want to know how much he knows about it."

Boyd cleared his throat, forcing himself mentally back to the room. "So, when did Susan's memory problems start, then?"

Barry looked thoughtful. "She always had them, I think. I don't know whether it was the drugs she was on on the street or the trauma of that life or what."

"Did she seek medical attention?"

"Of course, I took her to several doctors. They couldn't find anything physically wrong with her."

"Did you pursue it?"

"There wasn't much point. It didn't seem to bother her too much after I told her what her life was like before we met."

Boyd let out his breath. "Did it never bother _you_, though? That she could never tell you her background, how she ended up where she did?"

"No. It didn't matter to me, Superintendent. What was important was the start of our life together, what came before was irrelevant."

"But she was _sixteen_, Mr. Peterson! Did it not occur to you that someone might have been missing her?! Her parents, for example?!"

"Of course it occurred to me! But she couldn't tell me anything about who she was, the only thing she knew was her name, and not even her full name at that!"

"And you didn't do any checking on her? You didn't go to the Police?!"

"I thought I was doing a good thing!" Peterson shouted. "All I wanted was to get her away from the streets and look after her!"

"Well, you certainly did that! Off the streets and into your bed!"

"Boyd!" Grace exclaimed in exasperation via the earpiece. "For God's sake, get off your high horse! It's not your job to be his moral judge and jury!"

He turned towards the two-way glass to glare at her before facing his interviewee once more. "The point is, Mr. Peterson...you have no idea who Susan was before you met her. And I'm trying to get to the bottom of that because it may very well lead us to her sister's killer."

"Well, you're wasting your time with me, Superintendent. I didn't even know she _had_ a sister before today, let alone that she was dead."

"Yeah, well, that's what you say."

"It's the truth."

"I'm going to find out one way or the other, Mr. Peterson. You can be bloody sure of that."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, I have no choice but to let you go."

"Thank God."

He began to stand, edging towards the door before Boyd blocked his path with his body. "I'm going to want to speak to you again, Mr. Peterson."

Barry sighed. "Fine. You know where to find me. But I'm telling you, you're wasting your time."

"We'll see." He said gruffly before calling Spence forward to escort Peterson from the building, blowing out his breath in frustration as the man was led away. Grace stood up slowly from her seated position as Boyd joined her in the observation room, her eyebrow raised at his thunderous demeanour. He caught her expression instantly.

"Don't start with me, Grace."

She smiled grimly. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you."

He sighed loudly. "I didn't hit him, what more do you want?"

"No, you just took the moral high ground to the extent that even if he knew more information about Susan, he wasn't going to volunteer it."

"Yeah, well, he won't have much choice _but_ to volunteer the information sooner or later."

"Assuming he knows it."

He looked at her. "He knows it, Grace. Even I could tell he was holding something back in there."

She acknowledged his statement with a nod and a slight inclination of her head. "Yeah."

"He's involved in this somehow or other. We've just got to prove how."

"Well, it should be easy enough to find out where he was in 1964. That might be a start."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Get Mel onto it. I'm going to get Spence to tail Peterson, see where he goes, what he gets up to."

"You sure that's wise?"

"I think it's our best shot of seeing what he's really like. Beneath the bullshit facade."

She shrugged. "Okay. If that's what you think."

"I do."

With that, they walked in silence back towards the main meeting room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Just a short chapter, I'm afraid! But hopefully you'll like it, things are starting to move forwards a bit...**

Friday, 5pm

"Okay," Boyd said loudly, striding into the main meeting room from his office, a gruff tone to his voice and a figurative black cloud over his head, "what have we got on Peterson, then?"

Mel looked up from her desk, her sapphire eyes following her boss as he made his way to the front of the room. "Well..." She started.

Boyd cut her off immediately as he picked up a pen. "And if the answer is sweet F.A., Mel, you lot are working a late one tonight, all right?"

Spence began bristling at her side but Mel simply rolled her eyes. "Give me a chance, Boyd..."

"Well, come on, then!"

She exchanged an exasperated glance with Grace, who was seated further along the table, before eyeing her notes briefly. "He was born in 1934, 16th of June, in Brighton..."

Boyd groaned loudly. "I don't care about all the bloody minutiae, Mel, just get to the point. Where was he in 1964 and what was he doing?"

Mel threw her hands into the air with frustration and Grace's eyebrows shot up at his rebuke of the junior officer. "Boyd!"

He turned sharply to face her. "What?"

"You _did_ ask for background on Barry Peterson, didn't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, that's what Mel's trying to provide, if you'd give her more than five seconds of your attention!"

Her cobalt eyes were flashing angrily, her cheeks flushing, and Boyd had to suppress a sudden, unexpected surge of desire in his bloodstream. _Christ, she's sexy when she's pissed off with me..._He grinned lopsidedly at the thought.

"Thank you, Grace." Mel said emphatically, her face expectant as she looked back to her boss. "It took me all bloody day to find this stuff, Boyd."

Boyd held up his palms in surrender, sighing theatrically. "Fine, Mel, you carry on. It's not as if we're in a hurry or anything."

He moved to perch on the edge of the table near Grace, ignoring her irritated expression as Mel continued with her speech.

"Anyway, as I was saying," she said, "Barry Peterson was born in Brighton in 1934, where he lived until he was about eighteen..."

"And?" Boyd prompted impatiently.

"And," she continued, deliberately slowly, carefully, "he then moved to London to train as a builder and carpenter where he stayed until 1965."

"Where did he go then?" Grace asked.

"To Birmingham." Mel replied, one eyebrow raised.

Grace blew out a breath. "That's interesting." She said. "He moved to Birmingham the year after the twins go missing and then Susan turns up there some eleven years later, if he's to be believed."

"More importantly," Boyd said grimly, "it means he was in London when the Hammersmith twins disappeared."

"Whereabouts in London, Mel?" Grace asked.

Mel glanced down at her notes and took a breath to reply but Boyd cut her off, irritably. "For God's sake, Grace, why does it matter?"

She shrugged. "Just curious..."

"Well, it doesn't matter where he lived, does it? From wherever he lived in London, he could have abducted the Hammersmith twins without any difficulty at all!"

Grace eyed him steadily. "You remember the RAT theory, Boyd?"

"Oh, God, not the bloody RATs again, Grace, please..."

"All I'm saying is, that unless he lived or worked relatively close to the Hammersmith house, it's very unlikely he's involved, from a psychological point of view at least."

"And what about from a realism point of view? Barry Peterson was thirty when the twins disappeared, he could easily be involved if he's some kind of paedophile who gets his kicks murdering and abducting kids!"

"We haven't found any evidence of paedophilia, Boyd." Mel piped up. "He's never had so much as a parking ticket."

"Well, maybe it's about time we got a warrant and searched his house..."

"On what grounds?" Grace asked. "Without any evidence, you can't just go charging in accusing someone of being a paedophile, Boyd. If this ever went to court, the defence would wipe the floor with you!"

"Yeah, not to mention the fact that Peterson would probably sue the Met for deformation." Spence added.

"Well, let's _get_ some evidence, then!" Boyd said forcefully, the volume of his voice on the verge of a shout. "Because I think we all know damn well that Barry Peterson is tied up in this, one way or another."

"I just don't think it's as straightforward as you'd like to think." Grace said. "I think that, whatever happened forty years ago, his current relationship with Susan is linked to it somehow."

"I think his relationship, if you can call it that, with Susan happened _because_ of events forty years ago, Grace."

The profiler shrugged. "Maybe. But we're never going to get to the bottom of it until we find out all there is to know about him; so can we _please_ get back to Mel's research and save the speculation for later?"

Boyd took a breath to reply but Mel cut across him quickly. "Barry Peterson was living in Barnet until 1965, Grace. Nowhere near Kensington."

Grace looked thoughtful. "And he didn't move around at all?"

"No." Mel replied. "Same address from 1952 until 1965, according to the electoral register."

Spence, who had been relatively quiet throughout, spoke up suddenly, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "Hang on a second." He said, slowly. "Barry Peterson is a carpenter, right?"

"Spence, for God's sake, keep up, man!" Boyd exclaimed, exasperation clear in his tone, "We established that on day one."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm just thinking...he would have moved around a lot with his job, wouldn't he? I mean, he may not have moved addresses but he probably would have gone all over London with his work."

"Has anyone checked if there's a list of houses he worked on?" Boyd asked.

Spence nodded. "I started to, before you had me tail him." He began searching through a pile of papers in front of him before pulling out the relevant one and skimming it, snapping his fingers when he found the information he was seeking. "Here it is. In November 1964, Peterson was doing some building work...bloody hell...in Kensington."

Boyd threw up his hands, standing up from his perch to pace, an outlet for his frustrated energy. Grace raised an eyebrow. "Well, that changes things, I'd say."

Boyd gave a hollow laugh. "The RATs satisfied now, then, eh, Grace?"

"It certainly puts him more in the frame..."

"It _cements_ him in the frame, as far as I'm concerned."

Grace turned to Spence and Mel. "Is there any way we can find out the exact address he was working on in Kensington?"

"I'll get on it." Spence replied, getting up from his seat and moving to his computer.

"Start with the house where Mary Hammersmith's body was found." Boyd said. "I'd put money on that being the one."

Mel nodded. "And it's only half a mile or so from where the Hammersmiths live. That can't just be a coincidence."

Boyd began striding back towards his office. "Let me know the second you find anything." He called over his shoulder. "Then I can get Peterson back in and start turning the thumbscrews as tight as they'll go."

"Boyd!" Grace's voice was warning as it followed him through the room.

"I'm joking, Grace, bloody hell!" He shouted back, a brief thrill running through him at their banter, before he slammed his office door behind him as he reached his destination. He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline he always experienced when a case took a sudden leap forward and he took a deep, steadying breath as he sat down behind his desk. _It's only a matter of time, Peterson, you bastard...only a matter of time._


	7. Chapter 7

**Just a quick note for this chapter – I don't know very much about the health service or mental health services so I apologise if I've got it wrong, I don't mean to cause any offence! Thanks so much to you all for your support so far with this fic, you've really helped spur me on – hopefully it won't be too long before it's finished now! x**

Friday, 9pm

"Boss?" Spence's dark head appeared around the door frame of Boyd's office, rousing the older man from his thoughts. "We've got it – Barry Peterson was definitely working on the house where Mary Hammersmith was found."

Boyd stood up, removing his reading glasses as he did so. "There's a big surprise, Spence."

"You'd be a millionaire now, if you'd put a bet on it. I think we all would be."

Boyd began walking towards the main meeting room, following Spence to where Frankie had joined Mel and Grace.

"We need to bring Peterson in." Boyd said evenly, addressing the group. "I think we have enough to charge him."

Mel sighed. "It's all circumstantial, though, isn't it? I mean, just because he was working at the house doesn't necessarily mean..."

Boyd's thin veneer of calm was suddenly shattered. "Oh, come on, Mel! He's working at the house where one twin was murdered and the other twin then just _happens_ to turn up as his wife?! Give me strength!"

"I'm just thinking of evidence, Boyd, solid evidence! We've got to make this stand up in court otherwise what's the point?"

"The point is, Mel, that once we have him in custody, we can worry about it then!"

Mel shook her blond head vehemently. "That's totally backwards and you know it, Boyd. We won't be able to make the charge stick."

"She's right." Spence added. "He'll walk as soon as he gets his Brief in here."

Grace nodded. "I agree..."

Boyd raised an eyebrow at her. "Is this a mutiny, then, or what?"

She tried not to smile as she looked at him. "I think we at least have enough to bring him in for another interview. See how he reacts when we put some questions to him."

"This isn't a democracy, you know, Grace, _I'm_ the one who makes the decisions in this room..." His expression was stern but his dark eyes were shining.

She rolled her eyes. "Hmm, I know you'd like us all to think you're a bloody tyrant..."

"...but, as it happens, I agree." He turned to the other man. "See to it, Spence. I want him in here by the morning."

Spence picked up his phone and began to dial. Boyd's attention shifted to Frankie. "Is there anything you can give us forensically that can tie Peterson to the murder, Frankie? Anything at all?"

Frankie shrugged, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind one ear. "I lifted several alien DNA samples on my second pass through the items found with the remains. If I could match Peterson's DNA to one of those profiles, I'd say you'd have a pretty good case."

"Great. I'll get a sample from him when he comes in."

Grace took a breath to speak. "If he _is_ guilty, Boyd...there's some pretty complex psychology going on. I mean...has he kept Susan a prisoner all these years?"

"What, and just faked the memory loss thing? Wouldn't she have to be in on that?"

"No, not faked it. Took advantage of it. Susan was probably so traumatised by what happened to her sister..."

"What _he_ did to her sister, Grace..."

"...that she may well have buried it so far in her subconscious as for it to be unrecoverable. He may have taken advantage of that, invented the whole story about rescuing her from the streets."

"So, what does that mean, Grace? Has he been abusing her for forty years?"

She sighed. "It may have started out that way but...I don't know, I think he genuinely cares for her."

Boyd snorted contemptuously but Grace continued. "And, what's more, I think he genuinely cared for Mary too."

"For God's sake..."

"You remember the way her remains were left? Carefully buried with her possessions? That's not the work of someone who was cold to their victim..."

"He smashed her skull in, Grace! Or have you conveniently forgotten that fact?!"

Grace threw up her hands. "I'm just saying it's a discrepancy. The killing was angry, full of rage but...the burial...it was something else, Boyd. It was gentle."

"Oh, yeah, he's Father bloody Christmas, isn't he."

"It's just something to consider. Before you go in all guns blazing."

Boyd sighed loudly and held her gaze for a long moment. "Fine..."

"I think we should continue to make checks on him as well, see if we can work out what makes him tick."

"What did you have in mind, Grace?" Mel asked, picking up a pen in her slender fingers.

"His family, anybody connected to him back in 1964."

"It's a waste of time." Boyd called over his shoulder as he strode back towards his office. " I'm telling you, it's an absolute bloody waste of time."

Grace rolled her eyes. "It's worth a shot. I still say there'll be more to this when we scratch the surface."

Mel gave her a small smile. "I agree. I'll dig a bit deeper, see what I can find."

"Thanks, Mel." The profiler yawned, standing up from her chair. "In the meantime, I'm going to head off. I'll see you all in the morning."

"Bright and early." Mel chirped.

"Well, early, at least." Spence added. "I'm not so sure about the 'bright' bit."

Grace smiled. "Don't stay too late, eh?"

Mel shrugged, gesturing with her head towards Boyd's office. "You know what he's like. We'll be lucky if we're out of here before midnight."

Spence yawned loudly. "Yep, then we can hit the all-night clubs and be back in here by dawn."

Grace patted him on the shoulder. "I think you're passed all that, Spence, by the look of you."

"Nah, I'm raring to go, me."

She laughed, beginning to head towards her office to collect her bag, stopping as Boyd called her name, his voice carrying into the main meeting room. She peered around his door, eyebrows raised in question.

"You going home?" He asked.

"Well, I can't achieve anything here until tomorrow and besides, I..."

"What? Some sort of hot date lined up?" He lowered his eyes, unable to meet her gaze as he voiced his internal fears.

Grace looked at him, surprised at his question, her heart thudding inexplicably harder in her chest. "No. I was going to say I'm knackered and I'm going straight to bed. That all right?"

_Oh, God, you in bed...what are you trying to do to me, Grace?..._He gave her a slow smile. "Perfectly all right."

A frown flickered across her features as she tried to read the meaning behind his words. "Good. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sleep well."

The creases on Grace's forehead deepened, confusion pervading her mind as she walked from the building. _Now, what the hell was that all about? _She sighed, shaking her head. _I don't know why I'm surprised_, she mused, _it's not like Boyd's ever made much sense..._ The thought made her smile ironically as she made her way home.

Saturday, 10am

Boyd stood staring into the interview room through the observation glass, his arms folded across his broad chest, a brooding frown creasing his forehead. From his seated position inside the interview room, Peterson was calmly drinking from a cup of water, pointedly glancing at his wrist watch every few minutes. Boyd took a deep breath to collect his thoughts before addressing the petite woman at his side.

"What do you think, Grace?"

Grace gave a small shrug. "Well...he looks relaxed...I mean, he's pissed off that you're keeping him waiting but...he doesn't look particularly nervous, Boyd."

"You mean he doesn't look guilty?"

"I didn't say that. But he does look in control."

"Is he going to try and manipulate this interview?"

"He's intelligent enough, certainly."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that."

Boyd moved to walk towards the entrance to the interview room but Grace caught his arm. "Don't bully him, Boyd..."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Oh, Grace, not now..."

"You won't achieve anything. If he _is_ guilty, there's a deeply complex psychosis at work here."

"I've got to get him to talk. Even if he's not guilty, he knows _something_, Grace."

"I agree. But shouting him down isn't the answer and as for hitting him..."

Boyd turned towards her. "I've got no intention of hitting him." He said evenly.

Grace sighed. "You never have the intention, Boyd, I'm sure of that...but sometimes you..."

"Sometimes it just happens. And sometimes it works."

"Boyd..."

He pulled away from her, tearing his gaze from hers but she managed to grasp his hand as he moved past.

"Boyd." She whispered again, her deep blue eyes imploring him. "Please. Don't do anything you'll regret."

He gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "I never do anything I regret, Grace. You should know that by now."

He strode away from her forcefully then, trying desperately to banish the feel of her soft skin against his as he stepped into the interview room. Peterson glanced up at once.

"Well, it's about bloody time, Superintendent." He said irritably. "You've got no right to keep me waiting like this, I'm here voluntarily..."

Boyd began pacing in front of his suspect. "You're here, Mr Peterson, because you've turned out to be of major interest to my murder enquiry."

Peterson gave a contemptuous snort. "If that were true, you would have arrested me, surely."

"I just want to talk to you, Mr Peterson..."

"You mean you haven't got enough evidence against me, isn't that right?"

Boyd let the man's question go unanswered as he took a seat opposite him. "You were working on a house in Kensington in 1964."

Peterson laughed. "I worked on a lot of houses in 1964, Superintendent. What's your point?"

Boyd took a breath, attempting to calm his annoyance. "My point is, Mr Peterson...the house you worked on just happens to be the one where the remains of Susan's twin sister were found. And since I don't believe in coincidences, I'd say that makes you inextricably involved with her murder."

"Oh, that's outrageous..."

"Well, can you explain this apparent coincidence, then?"

Peterson fixed him with a cold stare. "It's exactly that, Superintendent. A coincidence, nothing more."

"And is it also a coincidence that you ended up married to this murdered child's twin?" Boyd laughed mirthlessly, dangerously. "What do you take me for, Mr Peterson?"

"I'm telling you the truth, Superintendent. If you don't believe me, that's your problem, not mine."

"Wrong, Mr Peterson. You couldn't be more wrong about that."

Peterson sighed loudly. "What more can I tell you?"

"You can start by telling me exactly what you were doing in that house in 1964."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Superintendent."

Boyd removed his glasses from his pocket and consulted his notes. "Twelve Primrose Avenue, Kensington. Don't tell me you don't remember, Mr Peterson, because I won't believe you."

Peterson held up his hands. "I'd need to have a look at my records. That's the truth, Superintendent."

"Oh, come _on_! You know damn well which house I'm talking about, Mr Peterson, because you killed Mary Hammersmith and buried her in the back garden there!"

"Boyd, for God's sake, what the hell are you doing?!" Grace's voice reverberated loudly via his earpiece but he ignored her protests studiously.

The older man in front of Boyd bristled visibly, colour bleaching his pale cheeks. "You can't just go accusing me like that, where's your fucking evidence?!"

"Until you can give me the specifics of what your work on that house entailed, I'm going to carry on accusing you, evidence or not!"

"That's completely ridiculous! I want to phone my solicitor!"

"You're not under arrest, Mr Peterson..."

"Then stop accusing me, Mr Boyd. Or else arrest me and let me get my solicitor."

A voice sounded in Boyd's ear then, Spence's deep baritone, and he turned towards the observation window. "Boss. I need a word."

Boyd rose silently from his chair, ignoring Peterson's notes of protest as he stepped from the interview room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

"Yes, Spence, what is it?" He asked, rubbing a frustrated hand across his face and trying to block Grace's dark expression from his view.

"I've got some news on Peterson's background." The junior officer said.

"Well, come on, man, don't draw this out any further! Give me something I can charge that bastard with!"

Spence shook his head. "I'm not sure I can do that, sir."

"What?! What do you mean?!"

"Barry Peterson has a son, Matthew Edwards, born 1954, who was living with him in Barnet in 1964..."

"Is this going somewhere, Spence? Because I've got a suspect in there who we're in serious danger of losing..."

Spence blew out an angry breath. "Matthew Edwards was sectioned under the mental health act when he was seventeen. From what we've been able to uncover, he claims his father abused him..."

Grace squeezed her eyes closed, a pained expression marring her features. "Oh, my God..."

"What, so he practised on his own son first before turning his attention to the Hammersmith girls?! This bloke just gets holier and holier, doesn't he." Boyd said, his flat voice barely containing his fury.

"What was he sectioned for, Spence?" Grace asked quietly.

Spence shook his head. "I dunno. It's red tape central with the health service, Grace, especially where mental health is concerned."

She nodded. "I'll see if I can have more luck..."

Boyd looked thoughtful. "His son was ten years old at the time Mary Hammersmith was killed...Jesus, is it possible he witnessed her murder? Witnessed his father cave in her skull?"

Grace shrugged, her expression grave. "That certainly might account for his mental health problems." She stepped towards him, resisting a sudden urge to touch him; his arm, his hand, his chest. "Let me see what I can find out before we jump to any rash conclusions, though, all right?"

"Fine." He said, darkly. "In the meantime, I'm going back in there."

He stalked back into the interview room, his body beginning to tremble with barely concealed rage. Grace turned to Spence, discomfort seeping into her bloodstream at Boyd's aggressive demeanour. "Get in there, Spence, I don't trust him alone with that man."

Spence nodded sharply before following in his boss' wake. Grace made her way swiftly back to the main meeting room, her heart rate quickening with each step.


	8. Chapter 8

**Just a little note to warn you of bad language in this chapter! Plus, there is a small reference to an episode from series 4 – the line "I never want to see you like that again" is taken from 'The Hardest Word'. Hope you enjoy x**

The chair clattered noisily to the floor, Peterson landing with a thud as Boyd's fist connected bluntly, powerfully with his jaw, the impact forcing his body backwards. Spence reacted swiftly, pinning Boyd's arms to his sides, despite the older man's attempts to struggle free. Peterson was screaming loudly from his sprawled position on the ground.

"You fucking bastard! I'll have your job for this, Boyd! And I'm reporting you for GBH!"

"Get up." Boyd growled, pulling himself roughly from Spence's grasp and hauling Peterson to his feet.

Peterson's hand flew immediately to his face. "You've broken my jaw, you fucking nutcase! I demand to see your superior officer!"

Boyd laughed darkly. "In this Unit, Mr Peterson, I'm top of the food chain, whether you like it or not."

"Well, get someone in who outranks you, then! The Chief Constable, I want to see him!"

"You think the Chief Constable's going to be interested in a little shit like you? He'd probably try and land one on you himself once I'd explained to him what you've done!"

"I've done _nothing_! Nothing! That was a completely unprovoked attack!"

"Mr Peterson..."

"And I'm nearly seventy years old! Attacking an unarmed pensioner, is that what the Police in this country have come to?!"

Boyd took a steadying breath. "Barry Peterson, I am arresting you for the murder of Mary Hammersmith and for the kidnap of Susan Hammersmith. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

Peterson sat down heavily into his chair, throwing his hands up in front of him. "Finally! Now maybe I can get my lawyer in here to sort this mess out!"

Boyd pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and slid it impatiently across the table. "Be my bloody guest."

He began to pace as Peterson talked shakily into the phone, making a conscious effort to slow his breathing, attempting to restore a semblance of calm to his bloodstream. Spence was leaning against the wall of the room, thick arms folded across his chest, his expression thunderous as he glared at his boss. As Peterson finished his conversation, Boyd snatched the phone hastily from his hand, silencing the older man immediately as he began to speak.

"Mr Boyd..."

"Don't say another word, Mr Peterson..."

"I just wanted you to know that I will _definitely_ be making a formal complaint about you. When my solicitor gets here..."

Boyd slammed his palms against the table top, his heart beginning to pound once more in his ears. "When your solicitor gets here, you'd better start telling me the truth, you bastard..."

"And a Doctor! I want a bloody Doctor as well, I swear you've smashed my jaw to pieces!"

Boyd gave a snort of disgust before stomping from the room, Spence at his heels, Peterson shouting loudly after them. The Superintendent blew out his breath sharply and ran a hand across his face as the door banged noisily behind them.

"Sir..." Spence began.

"Get back in there, Spence, I want you watching his every move."

"With respect, Sir, you need to calm down..."

Boyd's brow furrowed darkly. "I'm not going to say it again, Spence."

Spence took a fractional step towards his boss and lowered his voice. "If Grace had seen that, Peterson wouldn't be the only one making a formal complaint against you. You know how she feels about this sort of thing."

"I don't give a shit what Grace thinks. He's _my_ suspect, _my_ responsibility, it's got nothing to do with her." His voice was firm though he could feel an uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach at the forcefulness of his words.

Spence gave a mirthless laugh. "Bollocks. You shouldn't have gone there and you know it."

"Just get in there, Spence, all right?" Boyd growled, ignoring the younger man's further noises of protest as he began stalking away in the direction of the main meeting room, trying desperately to ignore Grace's despondent voice in his head. _I never want to see you like that again..._ He squeezed his dark eyes closed briefly, forcing the memory away, pushing her words to the recesses of his mind once more as he continued his journey along the corridor.

* * *

"Are you sure?"

Grace's voice was quiet as she listened intently to the person on the other end of the telephone. Hastily, she pulled a pad of paper towards her and scribbled down the information that was being relayed, bile rising from her stomach and into her throat at the words.

"All right. Thanks very much for your help, that's great."

She rang off abruptly, tearing the paper from the notebook and rising from her desk, pacing into the main meeting room before striding into the corridor, in the direction of the interview rooms, her heart pounding against her rib cage. _How the bloody hell did we miss this before?_

Momentarily, as she rounded the corner, Grace felt herself collide with a solid mass, the respective momentum of two bodies carrying them headlong into each other's personal space. Instinctively, she threw her hands forward to steady herself, her palms landing flat against Boyd's broad chest, his hands touching her lightly either side of her waist. For a brief second, their eyes locked and Grace felt her mouth fall open. _Oh, God, he's gorgeous...If he kisses me, I don't think I'll be strong enough to stop him..._

Boyd gave her a crooked smile, his fingers moving fractionally to subtly stroke her waist before she pulled herself sharply from his arms, suddenly, painfully conscious of their surroundings. "Hi." He said softly, throatily.

Grace swallowed hard. "Hi." She replied, hoping she was successfully concealing her breathlessness. "I was just coming to see you."

"Ditto." He said, his dark eyes still brimming with intensity as he looked at her.

She frowned as she surveyed his appearance critically for the first time since running into him, noting the red hue of his skin, the glean of perspiration on his forehead. "You're very flushed, Boyd."

He grinned boyishly. "Do you really want to go there, Grace?"

She felt her own face begin to colour at his insinuation but she kept her focus. "Did something happen in the interview room I should know about?"

Boyd groaned. "No. Nothing at all."

"You're a terrible liar, you know."

"What did you want to tell me?"

She looked at him evenly. "What happened in the interview room, Boyd?"

He returned her expression, his eyes shining. "What did you want to tell me, Grace?"

"Did you hit him?"

"Are we playing twenty questions here or what?"

She sighed, frustrated. "For God's sake..."

"What did you want to tell me, Grace?"

"No, Boyd. Not until you tell me what happened."

"I thought you might have vital evidence for the case or something."

"Oh, I do."

"Well, come on, then!"

Grace shook her head slowly. "Did you hit him, Boyd?"

He groaned loudly once more, rubbing his palms across his face. "You're not going to let this go, are you."

"You know I'm not. Just tell me."

Boyd's voice rose suddenly in volume. "Yes, I hit him, Grace, all right?! And I'd do it again in a second, if you want the truth!"

She looked instantly pained. "Why do you always have to do this, Boyd?"

"What?"

"Lose complete control of yourself."

"He deserved it, Grace! He's a child killer and molester and..."

Grace shook her head forcefully. "Actually, I don't think he is. Not a killer, at least."

Boyd stopped mid-flow, incredulity in his expression. "What are you talking about?"

"I just got off the phone with someone in the Mental Health Unit of the NHS. Matthew Edwards was living with his father at the time he was sectioned for attempting to murder Barry's adoptive daughter..."

"Adoptive daughter?"

"Apparently, she was called Kate and she was twelve years old at the time. I'm having some photos and records biked over as we speak but, Boyd,...I'd put money on the fact that Kate is actually Susan Hammersmith."

Boyd blew out his breath. "So, you're saying Peterson _did_ kidnap Susan, then?"

"Yeah."

"And what about Mary Hammersmith?"

"I don't know but...from what I was told about Matthew Edwards, I'd say it's conceivable that he killed Mary."

"And that his father covered up for him?"

"Maybe."

"Kidnapping Susan because she was a witness?"

"It's possible. I don't know how Susan's memory problems fit in though."

"But why, Grace? If this is true, why did they do it?"

Grace shrugged thoughtfully, leaning against the wall of the corridor. "Well...maybe Peterson _did_ abuse Matthew, like he said in his psychological evaluations..."

He mirrored the position of her body against the opposite wall. "Sexually?"

"Not necessarily. Could have been physical or mental abuse, maybe emotional..."

"And?"

"And it could have affected him so deeply that he became scarred by it to the extent of wanting to hurt people who he interpreted as having a better life than him."

"But how would he have had contact with the Hammersmith twins?"

"I don't know, Boyd. This is all conjecture, remember?"

Boyd rubbed his fingers over his silver beard. "Is Matthew Edwards still institutionalised?"

"No. He was released two weeks ago."

"Did they say why?

She shrugged her slim shoulders. "They thought he'd responded so well to treatment, behavioural therapy, that he was deemed safe to be released, at least into a half way house."

"Where?"

"They wouldn't tell me. My professional status only gets me so far."

"What's he going to do, Grace?"

"I don't know...but we need to find him, Boyd. And I think we should give Susan some protection as well, just in case."

Boyd frowned, worry etching itself across his brow. "All right. Get Mel to arrange that, I'm going to get back to Peterson when his Brief gets here."

He began to walk away from her but she called after him. "Boyd."

He half-turned to face her, noting the seriousness of her expression. "What?"

"Do I really have to say it?"

"You're going to tell me to count to ten and remember my Shakespeare."

She gave him a slight smile. "In one."

"I'll do my best."

He turned away from her once more and strode back down the corridor, Grace making her way in the opposite direction, trying desperately not to dwell on the sensation of his hands caressing her waist.


	9. Chapter 9

**Another warning for bad language on this chapter, plus a warning for violence involving a child. Also, I don't know much about Police interviews so please take the words of the solicitor with a bit of a pinch of salt! Hope it sounds vaguely realistic, anyway x**

"Start telling me the truth, Mr Peterson."

Boyd's deep baritone resonated throughout the interview room, his tone deliberately even under the watchful gaze of Peterson's solicitor, Jonathan Tressell, who leaned forward in his seat at the Policeman's words.

"My client will not react to statements, Superintendent, as well you know. Either re-phrase that as a question or..."

Boyd held up a hand, drawing on every reserve in his body to remain calm. "Fine." He eyed Peterson closely, fixing the older man with a steely gaze. "What can you tell me about your son, Mr Peterson?"

Peterson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "My son?"

"Yeah. What can you tell me about Matthew?"

Peterson glanced at his solicitor, his dark eyes registering a slight panic. Tressell took a breath to speak. "You're under no obligation to answer that, Barry. A simple 'no comment' is fine."

Boyd gave a snort. "A simple 'no comment' can be awfully incriminating, Mr Peterson. Especially where you and your son are concerned."

There was a brief silence in the room then before Peterson sighed deeply. "What do you want to know?"

Boyd leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across the breadth of his chest, a vague sense of satisfaction growing beneath his ribs. "Why don't you start at the beginning."

A shadow of a frown passed over Peterson's face as he began to speak. "All right...He came to live with me when he was five. When his mother couldn't cope with him any more."

"You're divorced from his mother?"

"I was never married to her, Superintendent."

"Go on."

The older man sighed once more. "There's not much to tell. He was a nightmare from day one; unruly, aggressive...Living with him was exhausting."

Boyd took a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to slow. "Did you abuse him?"

Tresell gave a start. "Unless you have evidence, Superintendent, I'm going to advise my client not to answer that."

Boyd ignored him, his tone steady as he repeated the question, his eyes boring intently into the man opposite him. "Did you abuse him?"

Peterson closed his eyes for a moment, lost briefly in the past, before answering. "It wasn't abuse..."

...

"_You dirty little bastard! Do you think anyone's ever going to want you, the way you carry on, you fucking little psycho?! Your own mother hates you, I bloody hate you! I regret the day we ever made you, the day I ever fucked your mother and brought you into the world!"_

_Five year old Matthew flinched at the venom in his father's words, cowering from the booted foot that caught him sharply, excruciatingly between his legs, the raw intensity of pain causing his stomach to contract, its contents forcing their way powerfully, uncontrollably from his mouth. His whole body began to shake violently as he noted the blind fury on his father's face._

"_Oh, for fuck's sake! Clean that up right now, you shit! What the fuck is __**wrong**__ with you?!"_

...

"Don't say anything else, Barry." Tressell warned, edgily. "This is bordering on deformation, Superintendent."

"Then, what was it?" Boyd asked, cutting directly across the firm tones of the solicitor, his attention focussed solely on his suspect, the volume of his voice increasing slightly.

"It was...discipline." Peterson glanced down at the table top before forcing his gaze back to Boyd's. "I'm not particularly proud of it but...it was the only way of keeping that boy in check. He was a little monster without it."

"And with it?"

The older man shook his head sadly. "He was a disturbed child, Superintendent. I don't know what his mother did to make him that way, but that's the truth of it. I only hit him as a very last resort."

"What else did you do to him?"

"I...when I lost my temper, I would...shout, scream terrible things at him. I know it was wrong but it was the only way I had of dealing with him."

Boyd narrowed his eyes. "And how long did this...discipline go on for?"

"Years, I suppose. His behaviour never really improved."

Boyd pretended to consult his notes. "He was sectioned under the Mental Health Act when he was seventeen, is that correct?"

Peterson nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Apparently for trying to murder your adoptive daughter, Kate."

Peterson's mouth fell open slightly, genuine shock registering across his features. "I thought that information was confidential."

"He's right, Superintendent." Tressell spoke up. "I'd like to know exactly how it was obtained."

Boyd gave a frustrated sigh. "It doesn't matter how I obtained it! The point is, Mr Peterson, that it was all a lie, wasn't it? You never had an adoptive daughter, you invented one to keep the authorities away from the truth about Susan Hammersmith!"

"I only lied to _protect_ her, Boyd, don't you understand?! She was in danger from Matthew, he tried to kill more times than I..." He broke off suddenly at the sharp intake of breath from Tressell at his side.

"More times than you, what?" Boyd asked quietly, a threatening edge to his voice.

Peterson looked pained. "I had to have him put away. He would've succeeded eventually, I'm sure of it."

"Boyd." Grace's soft voice sounded suddenly, unexpectedly via his earpiece, causing him to jump slightly, unaware that she had been watching. "Ask him why. Why did Matthew repeatedly try to kill Susan?"

Boyd repeated her question to Peterson, who shrugged, his palms facing upward as his thick shoulders moved. "I have no idea. I told you, Superintendent, he was seriously disturbed."

Boyd frowned. "When was the first time your son met Susan?"

"When I brought her to live with us, when I rescued her from the streets..."

"I don't believe you, Mr Peterson."

"Well, it's true."

"I think he met her before. I think he met her when she and her sister were five years old."

"Where's your evidence, Superintendent?" Tressell was smirking. "I trust you do _have_ evidence, with all these accusations you're bandying about?"

Boyd glared at him dangerously before getting to his feet and starting to pace, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to slot together neatly in his mind. "Did you used to take Matthew with you, Mr Peterson, when you went to different jobs?"

Peterson nodded warily. "Yes, sometimes. If I couldn't get him to go to school."

"Did you take him with you to Twelve Primrose Avenue, Kensington?"

"I...suppose I must have, yes." Peterson gave a sigh. "Look, Superintendent, this was all a very long time ago, I don't see what relevance this has to you charging me with murder!"

"So, it's conceivable he could have met Susan and Mary Hammersmith during one of these little extra-curricular excursions, then?"

"I told you before, Boyd! I didn't meet Susan until I saw her on the streets, years and years later! I never even _knew_ her back then!"

Boyd suddenly lost his carefully controlled patience. "And I am telling _you_, Mr Peterson, that that is class A bullshit! You know damn well Matthew knew the Hammersmith twins..."

"Superintendent..." Tressell's tone was one of warning.

"...The only thing I've yet to decide is which one of you killed Mary Hammersmith, you or your son?"

"I had nothing to do with any of that!"

"So, you're saying your son did?"

"Of course not!" Peterson's face flushed angrily, crimson blotches marking his cheeks. "For God's sake, he was a _child_! How could he possibly have done it?!"

"You said it yourself, Mr Peterson, he was highly disturbed! Add to that your mental and physical abuse of him and maybe, just maybe he lost the plot where Mary Hammersmith was concerned!"

"No! He couldn't have! He couldn't!"

Grace spoke once again in his ear. "I think he's in denial, Boyd. I think he knows damn well what happened, he just can't quite bring himself to face it. Ask him if he ever approached Matthew directly about it."

Boyd acknowledged her question and posed his own. "Did you ever ask him, Mr Peterson?"

"Ask him what?"

Boyd gave a low growl, irritation surging through every pore of his body. "Oh, for God's sake! Did you ever ask your son about Mary Hammersmith?!"

"I didn't need to! He wasn't involved, I _know_ he wasn't, he couldn't have been, he was with me all the time he was out of the house!"

The strained desperation in the older man's voice caused Boyd's heart to pound harder against his rib cage and he took a breath to reply, silenced only by Frankie's voice against his ear. "Boyd. I need a word. It's urgent."

He glanced towards the observation window, frustrated at the timing of his forensic scientist but intrigued by her words and he stalked from the interview room, ignoring Tressell's protests as he did so.

"Yeah, Frankie, what is it?" He asked, expectancy colouring his tones as he took in the seriousness of the younger woman's dark eyes.

"That alien male DNA on the toys with Mary Hammersmith's remains..."

"What of it?"

"I've just got the results back from the most recent tests." She gave a small smile, satisfaction tugging at her lips. "It's Barry Peterson's."

Boyd felt his stomach turn over. "Are you sure, Frankie? Are you absolutely sure?"

Frankie rolled her eyes irritably, fixing him with a scathing expression. "Are you seriously asking me that?" She sighed loudly and threw her hands into the air. "God, I don't know why I bother, I really don't."

"It's not that I don't believe you, Frankie..."

"I checked the result three times, Boyd. It's him."

Boyd nodded and turned to Grace whose brow was furrowed, her thoughtful gaze on Peterson through the glass. "So, this means..."

"That he was the one who buried Mary Hammersmith." She said quietly. "And buried her with care."

"It couldn't be that he killed her?"

"I don't think so, Boyd. I think he suspected Matthew had killed her and that's why he took great pains to bury her so well, with the toys he must have found with her. Kind of an atonement for what his son had done."

"So, why won't he just _say_ that, then?"

"Because he's pushed it right to the depths of his mind. He never knew the truth, not for sure, he just guessed at what had happened and acted accordingly. But he still can't admit it to himself because, deep down, he knows he's partially responsible for Matthew's behaviour and therefore partially responsible for Mary's death."

"What about Susan, Grace?"

"Well..." She said slowly. "Judging by the fact that Matthew seemed to spend his teenage years trying to kill her, I'd say he was...trying to finish something he started."

"So he attacked Susan at the same time as Mary but she survived?"

"Which could easily explain her memory loss." Frankie said. "A blow to the head, several blows to the head...she could have suffered brain damage, leading to memory degradation."

"Shit." Boyd breathed, running a hand through his hair. "He panicked when he found Susan alive...didn't know what else to do so kidnapped her and took her and Matthew to Birmingham then concocted a back story to explain where she'd come from."

"It fits." Grace agreed. "But it doesn't mean anything unless he confesses, Boyd, we're just speculating here..."

He gave a heavy sigh in acknowledgment. "Has Mel had any luck tracking Matthew down yet?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet..."

"How do I do this, Grace? How do I get Peterson to face what happened?"

Grace raised an eyebrow, her expression wry. "You mean without hitting him again?"

"For God's sake..."

"Appeal to his feelings for Susan. I think, whatever else happened, he genuinely cares about her and by default, he cares about her sister."

"All right. Keep me updated, will you? I want to know the second we find Matthew Edwards."

She nodded, her eyes following his body as he made his way back into the interview room.


	10. Chapter 10

**As you can see, I've been on a major push on the writing front this weekend! We're not too far from the end now... x**

"I've just been informed," Boyd said, closing the door of the room firmly behind him before turning his dark eyes to Barry Peterson, "that your DNA has been found with the remains of Mary Hammersmith, Mr Peterson..."

The blood drained suddenly from Peterson's ruddy face as he took in Boyd's words, their reality turning his skin a sickly shade of grey, and he gave a shuddering sigh that permeated his entire body, his head slumping forwards. "Oh my God..." He whispered shakily, his breath rasping in his chest.

"So now would be a very good time for you to pull your head out of the sand and start telling me exactly what happened that day in 1964."

"I can't...I...I never knew for sure."

Boyd sighed loudly. "Look, Mr Peterson, I don't think you killed Mary Hammersmith, not anymore. But I think you _know_ that your son did..."

"I _don't_ know that! Nothing was clear that day, it was all such a mess!"

Boyd took a seat at the table and leant forward in his chair. "This is Susan's sister we're talking about here, remember. Her twin sister. Don't you think Susan deserves to know the truth about what happened to her?" His voice was soft, despite the pounding of blood in his ears, the adrenaline surging through his body.

"Good, that's good, Boyd." Grace mumbled into his earpiece. "Keep it at this level, don't raise your voice."

"I...she..." Peterson eyes flickered anxiously between Boyd and Tressell, confusion lacing his expression, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his defences began to crumble.

"Your son brutally attacked her, Mr Peterson." Boyd's voice was almost a whisper, intensity lacing every word. "He beat her so violently round the head that she lost her memory. I imagine she was nearly dead when you found her, is that right? If you hadn't have got there in time..."

Peterson gave a strangled sob, years of repressed memory exploding suddenly through his mind, and he took several shaky breaths before speaking again. "Oh, God...There was so much blood, so much blood..." He murmured.

"Tell me what happened." Boyd said quietly.

"Superintendent, I really think my client needs a break, the stress he's under at the moment, it's..." Tressell began, a nervous frown marring his forehead.

"No." Peterson interrupted, turning slightly to face his solicitor, his tone expressionless, flat. "I need to say this, I've hidden it for forty years. From myself, from everybody."

"Go on, Mr Peterson." Boyd said encouragingly as Tressell held up his palms in defeat.

"I... was inside the house..." He said softly, his eyes beginning to glaze as his memory took over. "Matthew came running in, covered in blood...said something had happened to two little girls on the Common."

Boyd took a breath to speak but Peterson continued. "When I got there, I saw the devil's glint in his eyes and I _knew..._I knew..." He broke off to clear his throat, his voice beginning to crack under the strain of his words. "It was too late for Mary. But Susan...Susan was breathing..."

"You took Mary Hammersmith's body and buried her in the garden of Twelve Primrose Avenue. Why? Why did you move her, why not call the Police?"

"Because...because I felt so guilty. Because I knew I'd made Matthew what he was. I couldn't bear the thought of him going to prison."

"So you moved the body."

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Why did you bury her in the garden? If you were so intent on burying her, why not do it where she was lying?"

"I don't know, I just...I thought if the Police were looking for her , they might dig on the Common. The garden seemed...safer somehow and...more respectful. Plus they'd just had new turf laid so it was easy to cover her up." He broke off, sighing deeply. "I don't know, Boyd, I wasn't exactly thinking straight at the time."

Boyd let the silence in the room elongate a moment longer before speaking again. "And Susan? What did you think about her?"

Peterson's face contorted with pain at the mention of his wife, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know what to do. She was...she had this huge gash in the back of her head and the blood...oh, God..."

"What did you do?" Boyd asked, willing his voice to remain even.

"I ran to the house and fetched water and I...I found a first aid kit, cleaned her up and bandaged her head. Then I poured water on the ground to wash the blood away."

"And what was Matthew doing while all this was going on?"

"He was just standing there...watching what I was doing...his eyes...his eyes...I've never seen a child with eyes like that, he was so cold, so intensely cold."

"What happened next, Mr Peterson?"

"I...bundled them into the car and drove...and kept driving...I needed to think, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do."

"You ended up in Birmingham."

He nodded. "I rented a house...kept Susan inside while I nursed her back to health."

"And Matthew?"

"We never spoke about it again. When Susan started to get better, I told her I'd found her on the streets, that I'd brought her to live with me. I said it so often, I even started to believe it myself, started to convince myself that none of it had really happened, that the three of us were just a normal family."

"How did Matthew react to that?"

"He was okay, to start with. I don't think he even remembered what he'd done to the girls, it was like it was all some game to him." He shook his head sadly. "When Susan and I became lovers, when she was sixteen, that's when he started trying to attack her."

"How did that happen, Mr Peterson, that transition from being your prisoner to being your lover?" Boyd couldn't keep the edge from his voice as he spoke.

"She was never my prisoner! What I told you before about rescuing her, that was partially true. If I hadn't have brought her with me, she'd have died."

"You took advantage of her fragile state to satisfy your own needs."

"Boyd." The sharpness of Grace's voice was an instant rebuke and he took a deep, cleansing breath, pushing his anger to the depths of his stomach.

Peterson sighed. "It wasn't like that. We fell in love. It _does_ happen, Superintendent."

"Well, whatever, did you never think that your actions with Susan might de-stabilise Matthew again? That by sleeping with her you might be putting her in danger from him?"

"I thought...I stupidly thought he was over all that. He seemed happier, more settled. I didn't know he was evil to the core until he started making attempts on Susan's life."

Boyd was quiet for a moment before phrasing his next question,a dark nuance to his voice. "Is there anything else you want to tell me in this happy story, Mr Peterson, before I have you charged with false imprisonment and perverting the course of justice?"

Peterson closed his eyes, anxiety passing like a shadow over his face. "No." He said finally, his voice barely audible in the silent expanse of the room. "Nothing else."

"In that case, I'll get the Custody Sergeant to..."

"Can you come out here, Boyd?" There was a slight strain to Grace's usually tranquil voice and he frowned at her tone, worry prickling at the edges of his stomach. "Mel needs to speak to you."

He turned to Peterson and Tressell. "The Custody Sergeant will be along shortly." He said curtly, rising from his chair and moving to walk from the room, forcing his expression to remain neutral as he noticed Peterson's body begin to shake, bitter tears falling in silent rivers down his face. _You deserve everything you get, you twisted bastard..._

"What is it?" He asked as he closed the interview room door with a loud bang, his eyes flickering from Grace to Mel, marking the tension in their body language, the stress in their expressions. "What's going on?"

"We just got a call from uniform." Mel said, her voice steady. "They're dealing with a...situation at Twelve Primrose Avenue in Kensington."

Boyd felt his heart begin to pick up pace, thundering in his chest. "What kind of situation, Mel?"

"An unknown male, approximately fifty years old, broke into their garden with a female hostage..."

"Matthew Edwards and Susan Peterson?"

"It's a fair assumption." Grace said, nodding.

"Is he armed, Mel?" Boyd asked, dread filling his chest in anticipation of her answer.

"Yeah. Machete-type knife is what they're saying." She took a breath. "And, Boyd, he's not worried about using it; he stabbed Laura Turner's daughter in the leg when she tried to intervene."

"Oh, Jesus." He breathed, running a hand through his hair as he tried desperately to think.

"I've called Armed Response, there's a Unit on its way there now and there should be an ambulance on the scene already, uniform saw to that."

"Good, let's go."

He practically ran the length of the corridor, willing his legs to move faster, barking Spence's name as he rounded the corner to the meeting room, Grace and Mel following in quick succession behind him.

They moved quickly into the car park, Spence and Mel taking the back seat, as was their custom, Grace placing her hand on the passenger door handle before Boyd's voice halted her actions.

"What are you doing?" He asked, as if suddenly aware of her presence across the breadth of the vehicle.

She frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're not coming, Grace." He said firmly. "It's absolutely out of the question."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's an incredibly dangerous, volatile situation, there's no telling what he might do..."

"All the more reason I should be there, Boyd. I've had training in hostage negotiation, I might be able to talk to him."

"No, Grace. Go back inside."

She caught the undercurrent of his words and the expression in his eyes but she shook her head resolutely. "We're wasting time. We need to go."

"Grace, I won't ask you again."

"You're not responsible for me, Boyd, all right? It's my decision whether or I not I come with you and I'm making it. Now, let's go."

With that, she pulled the door sharply open and stepped inside the car. Boyd's expression darkened to an ominous frown as his actions mirrored hers, slamming the door angrily behind him as he forced the car into gear and sped towards the main road.


	11. Chapter 11

**Finally, the penultimate chapter! There is extremely bad language in this chapter so apologies if this offends anyone. The only other thing to say is...hold onto your hats... x**

The frozen plants of the garden were glistening in the pale winter sunlight, the sparkling surfaces reflecting a glorious spectrum of colour into the air, causing Matthew Edwards to blink rapidly against the brightness as he forced the shivering woman in his arms further along the grass.

"I don't understand!" Susan was unable to stop her voice from shaking, fear ingratiating itself unbidden into every cell of her body as she felt the tip of the knife nick the delicate skin of her throat. "Why are you doing this to me?!"

"Don't you _know_, Susie?" He hissed angrily into her ear, his body pressed flush to hers as he held her with one arm about her waist, the other teasing her neck with the blade, fascinated as he watched her pulse beat rapidly beneath her pale skin. "Don't you know after all this time?"

"You know I don't! I never knew, Matt, I never understood what you were talking about!"

"You're lying! You were always lying! How could you not remember what happened?!" Her neck was tantalisingly close to his mouth and he licked his lips, feeling his body begin to respond to her before pushing the sensation away, disgusted with himself at his lack of control.

"My sister... the Police who came to see me said something about my sister..."

He gave a sharp intake of breath, feeling panic begin to rise in his chest. "You got the Police involved?"

"No, I...They came to see _me_, Matt, not the other way round."

Matthew took another breath to speak but was interrupted by a loud voice emanating from a greying man leading a group of people towards their position. "Matthew Edwards? I'm Detective Superintendent Boyd..."

Instinctively, Matthew tightened his grip about Susan's body, steadying his grasp on the knife and holding it more firmly against her skin, ignoring her frightened whimpers as they permeated the crisp, still air. "Don't come any closer! I'll slit her fucking throat, do you hear me?!"

Boyd held up his hands, his palms facing his adversary in a placating gesture, his voice remaining steady despite the churning in his stomach. "I just want to talk to you, Matthew."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you so just fuck off and leave us alone!"

"Please, Matthew." A different voice now, a woman, long emerald cardigan hugging her petite frame. She took a step forward, away from the group. "We just want to understand what's going on here."

He gave a contemptuous snort and shook his head vehemently. "You're Police." He said. "I don't talk to Police."

The woman took another small step forward. "I'm not the Police, Matthew. My name's Grace, I'm a psychologist."

Matthew gave a tired laugh. "Will you lot never leave me the fuck alone?! I thought you'd all agreed I was 'cured'!"

"I'm not from the Unit either, Matthew. I'm an independent psychologist and I'm just here to make sure the Police understand your needs properly."

The laughter became suddenly maniacal. "My _needs_, Grace?! My only need here is to make sure Susan joins her sister, like she should have done forty years ago!"

Grace tried a small smile. "I don't think you mean that. I think if you meant it, you'd have killed Susan a long time ago, isn't that right?"

"I _tried_, for God's sake, don't you people read your files?! Dear daddy had me locked up so I couldn't get to his precious little cunt here!"

"I know that..."

"Then why ask such stupid questions, Grace? I thought head doctors were supposed to be intelligent."

Grace paused, her pulse quickening as she risked another fractional step towards the couple ahead of her, ignoring Boyd as he forcefully whispered her name in warning, aware only of Matthew and Susan and the subtle movements of the Armed Response Unit as they manoeuvred into position.

"Then help me understand, Matthew, help us all understand. _Why_ are you doing this?"

"Why does it matter why?! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Who has it got to do with?"

"Mary and Susan, they're the only ones who matter, the only ones that ever mattered in the whole of my fucking miserable life!" His voice had risen sharply in volume and was shaking with anger.

"Tell me about that." Grace said softly, encouragingly. "Tell me why they were so important to you."

Matthew smiled, momentarily lost in the events of the past, stroking the silvery blade across Susan's throat in a gentle caress as he remembered, ignoring her shivers beneath his touch. "They treated me with...they didn't treat me like I was a some sort of fucking...freak. They were kind, they shared their toys, they..."

"They were everything your father wasn't." Grace said slowly, realisation dawning in her consciousness.

Hot tears blurred his vision but he blinked them rapidly away. "That bastard wouldn't have known kindness if it had come up and sucked on his tiny cock." He spat bitterly, poison colouring his words.

"So, why kill Mary, then?" She asked, edging closer to Matthew and further from Boyd. "Why kill someone who you obviously thought highly of and who thought highly of you?"

Another hysterical laugh sounded from his lips, reverberating through the trees in the otherwise tranquil setting. "Don't you get it, Grace?! It was all an act, all of it! As soon as they could, they wanted to be back off to mummy..."

"And you couldn't let them go?"

"I wanted them to stay with me, to never leave me! I didn't care that they had a family, people who loved them, I couldn't...I didn't understand any of that then!"

"But you understand it now, Matthew. You understand that Susan has people who love her, who don't want to see her get hurt."

"Are you talking about her doting husband?! It'll serve that bastard right if he never gets to see her again!"

"Matthew, there's no doubt that your father treated you terribly badly, that he abused you and robbed you of your childhood. But none of that is Susan's fault, do you understand? She's completely innocent in all of this."

He gave a strangled howl, pain lancing across his chest. "She tried to leave me, Grace! She and Mary, they tried to leave me, to get back to their parents! They didn't want to be with me! I had no choice but to stop them, _no choice_!"

"I don't remember, Matt!" Susan was sobbing now, her face contorting with fear and anguish. "I don't remember any of it!"

"But you remember fucking my father, don't you?! You remember that clearly enough!"

Grace inched forward once more, a terrible realisation hitting her as she took in Matthew's wild eyes, the years of hatred rippling beneath his skin. _Oh, God, it was the ultimate betrayal, his father and the girl he thought of as his salvation, as his escape...I don't think I can get her out of this..._She took a deep breath, praying desperately for calm as she spoke again.

"Matthew..."

She was so close now, within arms reach of the entwined couple. Matthew growled as he too noticed the proximity. "Get away from me, Grace!"

"You need to let her go, Matthew. It's time to let it _all_ go."

"I'll never let her go! I've waited too long for this, it's all that's kept me going for forty fucking years!"

"Give me the knife, Matthew. You don't want to do this."

"It's the _only_ thing I want to do! I can't go on living unless I do this, unless I finish what I started!"

"You love Susan." She stated gently. "Do you really want to kill someone you love? Is that where you want this to end, Matthew?"

"I just want it to end! I want to be free of her, free of _him_!"

"Then give me the knife. Free yourself of them another way."

He shook his head rapidly, desperation in his body language, his eyes flashing, his body trembling with tension before letting out a sudden, animal scream, dragging the knife in a rapid motion across Susan's exposed throat, her rich, ruby blood spurting furiously, violently from the wound in huge arcs through the air as she fell abruptly to the ground, her body landing with a sickening thud. Grace could only watch, frozen with horror, her clothes spattered with large patches of crimson, as Matthew advanced towards her, his lips curling in another terrifying scream, his hand reaching out viciously with the blade to slash her across the chest, tearing easily through the layers of her clothes. She gave a shocked gasp as she felt the knife impact her skin, the excruciating, stinging pain sublimated by intense panic as she registered the pool of blood forming rapidly below her collar bones. She felt darkness begin to cloud her consciousness and she staggered backwards before falling to the ground, aware only peripherally of gunshots in the air and the sound of another body crumpling to earth.

"GRACE!!"

It was Boyd's voice, she was sure of that, but it sounded distant, as if her were calling her from miles away. She blinked her eyes rapidly, despite an almost overwhelming desire to rest them, desperate to remain consciousness, to fight the blackness. He was kneeling over her then, his hands instantly applying pressure to her chest, attempting, she knew, to stem the bleeding.

"Oh, God, Grace." His breathing was ragged, panic causing his hands to shake. "Oh, God..."

"Boyd..." She whispered hoarsely, every reserve of strength focussed on breathing his name, on keeping her eyes locked with his.

"It's all right, Grace, you're going to be fine." Tears were forming in his eyes, despite the reassurance of his words and he turned his head to scream over his shoulder, desperate not to let her see the grave concern in his expression. "Get the fucking medic over here, _now_!"

He pulled his jacket roughly from his body then, pressing it hard against her wound, a crushing panic rising in him anew as the material turned rapidly scarlet beneath his palms, her blood soaking instantly through the fibres and onto his skin.

"Oh, Christ...Oh, Grace...Grace..."

Grace was powerless to stop her eyes drifting closed, the lull of unconsciousness too seductive to resist any longer, his desperate sobbing of her name and his tears falling onto her face slipping slowly from her senses as her world became one of blissful night.


	12. Chapter 12

**So, here it is! The final chapter! Thanks to you all for sticking with it, I've had so much fun writing this, I only hope you enjoy this final instalment! I've had to rate this chapter M for sexual situations so please don't read this if you're offended by that type of thing or if you're under 16. As always, Waking the Dead and its characters belong entirely to the BBC – I just take them out of their comfort zones but I promise to return them unharmed! :) **** x**

Nine days later, 9pm

Grace pulled the soft lilac dressing gown about her naked body, wincing slightly in pain as the material caught the bandage that ran the breadth of her chest. She swore under her breath as she sank onto the settee, tucking her feet beneath her and taking a large sip of her red wine, adjusting the dressing gown to cause minimum discomfort to her skin. She had been discharged from the hospital the previous day, with strict instructions to rest, a topic on which her children had been unrelenting, the three of them accompanying her to her house and effectively tucking her into bed. She smiled slightly at their dedication, aware of vague memories of their constant presence during her time in the ICU drifting in and out of consciousness. It had been touch-and-go for a while, she knew. The doctors had talked of three blood transfusions, of a severe infection at the wound site...She sighed shakily, recalling the worried frowns on Mel's and Frankie's foreheads during one of her brief periods of lucidity, Spence's brooding expression as he gently held her hand. Boyd had been notably conspicuous by his absence, her only memory one of his retreating back as her eyes had flickered momentarily open. She sighed again, suddenly too exhausted to organise her feelings on the subject, taking another draw from her glass.

A gentle knocking on the front door broke her from her thoughts then and she rose from her seat, frowning, pulling the cord of the dressing gown more tightly about her body to preserve her modesty before moving into the hallway.

"Hi." He said softly as she opened the door, his eyes flickering over her body as he noted her state of undress, a bottle of wine in his hand.

Grace folded her arms across her chest and leant against the door frame, torn between irritation and excitation at his presence on her door step. "You never heard of a phone, Boyd?"

His expression darkened, guilt flooding his chest at his intrusion into her private space. "I'll go..."

He turned to leave but she called after him, pushing her doubts to the depths of her stomach. "Since you're here..."

He looked at her, his body still half-turned from hers, slightly uncertain. "Since I'm here...?"

"Well, you might as well bring the wine in."

She paced back down the corridor and into the living room, sensing his presence behind her and she gestured for him to take a seat on the settee. "Would you like a glass?" She asked. "I've got a bottle open."

He rose from the chair once more. "I'll get it, Grace."

She sighed irritably. "I'm not an invalid, Boyd. I think I can pour a glass of wine without any assistance."

He took a breath to speak but the words caught in his throat. "Yeah. Sorry."

She disappeared from the room briefly then, reappearing moments later with a large goblet of burgundy wine, which she handed to him before taking a seat beside him on the couch, subconsciously pulling at the material of her gown to ensure it was fully enclosing her skin. For a full minute, neither spoke, each mulling over their own thoughts, listening to the regular ticking of the clock standing in the corner. Finally, Boyd broke the silence.

"How are you, Grace?" He asked, his voice quiet, unable to meet her gaze as he spoke.

"I'm fine." She replied, the volume of her voice matching his.

"You in pain?"

"No, not really. It comes and goes."

"Good. I mean...I'm glad it's not too painful."

Grace winced at the stilted words and stifled a sigh as she watched him take a sip from his wine. "Thanks for the flowers, by the way." She said, attempting to change the subject, gesturing at the bright array of lilies and roses adorning her mantlepiece.

Boyd looked blankly at her as he followed her gaze, his brows knitting together. "What?"

She gave him a small smile, a slight thrill in her chest as she teased him. "Oh, I see. I take it Frankie and Mel organised them and you and Spence just signed your names at the bottom of the card?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Something like that."

"Well, they're beautiful. Tell the girls, will you."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence once more, Grace fingering the contours of her wine glass, tension coiling itself tightly in her stomach in anticipation of his next words, noting his hunched shoulders, the oppressive bleakness of his demeanour.

"Look, Grace, I..." He began softly, breaking off abruptly and sighing in frustration as he turned in his seat to face her.

Grace held up a hand, her palm towards him. "You don't have to say anything, Boyd. It's not your fault."

"It's my responsibility. I should never have let you come to the scene."

She tried a small smile, which she knew didn't reach her eyes. "As I recall, you tried to stop me..."

"I should've insisted."

"You _did_. _I_ made the decision, Boyd, it had nothing to do with you..."

"I'm sorry, Grace..."

"...and, as it turns out, it was a pretty lousy one. Obviously my negotiating skills aren't quite what I thought they were." Her voice had taken on a hardened, bitter edge and she had to fight desperately to keep the words from catching in her throat. "So, there's nothing for you to be sorry for, all right? This one's all down to me. Susan's death is all down to me."

She took a shaky breath, attempting to regain control over the spiralling emotions that were churning in her chest. Boyd sighed, moving imperceptibly closer, overcome with a desire to touch her but unsure of the boundaries existing invisibly between them.

"Susan's death is down to Matthew Edwards, Grace. It's as simple as that."

"I should've been able to stop him..."

"I don't think anyone would've been able to stop him. You put your life on the line for Susan, she would've realised you were trying to help her."

"But it was all pointless in the end, though, wasn't it." She said flatly, weary resignation settling in her tone. "We found Susan alive after forty years missing only for her to be killed by the same psychotic bastard who murdered her sister all those years ago. It's just...it's a tragic irony of the worst possible proportions."

He shook his head and placed his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb gently across her skin. "It's not your fault, Grace..."

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly, pain flashing across her features. "I'm not sure that really makes me feel any better, Boyd, to be honest."

"Would anything?"

Grace blinked rapidly, stinging tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "No." She admitted quietly, pulling her hand from beneath his, the guilt in her conscience forcing her to dismiss his attempt at comfort. "I don't think it would."

"Her funeral's in two days, maybe going to that..."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"See how you feel."

She nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath, savouring the quiet in the room briefly before speaking again, needing to move the subject away from Susan and her untimely death. "So, I hear you had a run-in with my daughter." She said, unable to stop a slight smile flickering across her face at his instant grimace.

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Care to elaborate? I've only heard one side of the story so far."

Boyd looked at her. "What did she say?"

Grace shrugged, careful to keep her tone light, despite the layer of hurt in her chest. "Something about her telling you that you should've spent more time in the hospital when I was in the ICU..." He started to respond but she instantly cut him off, her palm raised in defence. "I'm not judging you, Boyd. I'm sure you had your reasons. Gina can be hot-headed and stubborn, she..."

"She called me a selfish coward..." He said softly, unable to meet her gaze.

"Ah."

He sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly, his head dropping backwards to rest against the settee. "As it turns out, she was right. On both counts."

"How do you mean?" She asked.

He paused, taking a sip of his drink as he pondered his next words, before placing it on the coffee table in front of him. "I _did_ come to see you in the ICU..."

"I know. I remember." _Or, at least, I remember you walking away..._

"...But...I couldn't stand to see you like that. Couldn't stand that it was my fault you were there." His voice was barely audible, gravelly in his chest.

"We've been through this. It wasn't your fault..."

"So I walked away." He broke off and swallowed, fighting down the guilt. "I walked away, Grace, and I didn't go back."

"It doesn't matter, Boyd..." She was almost whispering now, emotion pressing on her throat as she absorbed his words.

"At first Gina accused me of not giving a shit. And then I think she realised that it was _because _I gave a shit that I couldn't face..." He sighed shakily. "Which is where the selfish coward thing came in."

"You did what you needed to do..."

"I did what was best for me. But I never thought about what was best for you."

"I was unconscious most of the time, Boyd. I wouldn't have wanted you there hovering over me..."

"I thought I was going to lose you."

His gentle admission made her breath catch in her chest and she felt tears well suddenly in her eyes as he reached out a hand to take hers again, their fingers naturally interlacing, learning the feel of her skin beneath his. "Don't do that to me again." He said softly, the intensity in his obsidian eyes almost overwhelming her.

She gave him a watery smile. "I've got no intention of doing it again."

"Good. Because I don't want to have to answer to your daughter for a second time."

Grace laughed quietly. "Once was enough, eh?"

"She's got a tongue on her, that one."

"She takes after her father."

He gave her a sideways glance, noting the gleam in her eyes. "Of course she does."

They fell into a companionable silence then, their hands still joined in Grace's lap, Boyd's thumb tracing lazy circles across her knuckle before turning her hand over to continue his ministrations across her palm and the inside of her wrist. Grace let her eyes flutter close, his simple yet unexpectedly erotic actions causing delicious tingling sensations to crackle through her skin.

"Grace?" He said eventually, after several moments had passed, his palm moving to rest against her thigh as he turned his body towards hers.

"Hmm?" She found she couldn't articulate a more appropriate response as his fingers began to tease her leg through the thin material of her dressing gown.

"I've been thinking."

"About what?"

He grinned suddenly and shook his head in disbelief, gesturing with his free hand at the one exploring the length of her thigh. "Are you being serious? Am I not coming onto you strongly enough here?"

She laughed briefly before sobering again, sadness pervading her expression. "I thought we talked about this before. It can't happen, Peter."

The use of his first name made his heart jump sharply in his chest. "So, what would you do...if I kissed you, Grace? Right now."

She swallowed hard at his words, trying to slow the thunderous pounding of her heartbeat. "You've kissed me before, remember?"

"I don't think that really counts, do you?"

"Why not?"

"Because that was accidental. This would be very much on purpose."

"Boyd..." She reverted back to his surname, back into her comfort zone, her mind screaming at her to put some distance between them before the situation got out of control.

"Why don't we just try it? If you're not enjoying it, if you feel uncomfortable, just tell me and I'll walk away and never mention this again, all right?"

"I don't know, Boyd. There's a lot at stake here, it's not just about the two of us."

"I know that. But I also know that I don't want to wake up in twenty years time wondering 'what if'. Especially after all that's happened." He gestured towards her chest, to where the top of her bandage was just visible beneath her gown.

She gave him a rueful smile. "Nothing like a near-death experience to focus the mind, eh?"

"Not just the mind, Grace."

His gaze was intense, the subtext of his words abundantly clear and Grace felt the last layers of her resistance melt suddenly and dramatically away as he moved towards her, his hand sliding up her arm and shoulder to cup her face. His fingertips stroked her cheek gently and she leaned instinctively into his touch, bringing her own hand up to cover his, moving his hand to her mouth, her lips brushing a brief kiss against his palm, the soft skin of his wrist. She heard him moan, low in his chest, as he pulled her head tenderly towards his, their lips meeting in a teasing kiss. Grace gasped against his mouth at the unexpected intensity of emotion across her chest and she groaned with pleasure as he seized the opportunity to kiss her more deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth with almost agonising dexterity. She returned his kiss enthusiastically, arousal coursing hotly through her bloodstream as her tongue tangled effortlessly with his, his taste intoxicating her senses, her mind clouding into a red haze of desire. His hand was sliding slowly, sensually down the length of her frame, tracing a path along the side of her neck then slipping lower and, despite the lustful yearning of her body, she felt herself tense as he palmed her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple. He read her body language immediately and pulled his hand gently away, his breathing ragged, his pupils almost completely dilated as he looked at her.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked throatily, conscious of her injuries and the recent proximity of his hand to her wound site.

"No., I..." She replied, her voice breathless as her heart thudded almost painfully against her ribcage, conflicting emotions battling for supremacy inside her mind.

"Do you not want to do this, Grace?" His voice was husky, thick with arousal and she watched him take a heaving breath, trying to bring his blood chemistry back to equilibrium.

She kissed him briefly, slipping her tongue suggestively into his mouth to assuage his doubts. "It's not that." She said as she broke away, sighing.

"Then, what?" He asked, his eyes searching hers intently.

"It's just..." She closed her eyes momentarily before looking directly at him. "It's been a long time for me, Peter."

He gave her a slight smile, relief pulsing through his body at her words. "For me, too." He replied sincerely, leaning in to stroke her face again, his thumb tracing the sensuous curves of her mouth.

"No, I mean a _really_ long time."

"Grace..." He murmured as he kissed her anew, her tiny sigh of pleasure at his actions sending shockwaves through his body. "Just relax..."

He slid his hand back to her breast then, thrilled at the change in her breathing as he teased her nipple through the flimsy material of the dressing gown, her body arcing naturally towards him, pushing herself further into his palm. His lips nibbled the sensitive skin of her throat before moving to trace her earlobe with his tongue, mumbling a torrent of words against her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"Just relax...and let me...let me love you."

The whispering of his name on her lips turned rapidly into an enthusiastic groan as his hand slid beneath the fabric of the dressing gown and slipped easily between her legs.

* * *

Grace blinked slowly awake, watery winter sunshine filtering through the small gap in her curtains, and she reached for her alarm clock, trying to decipher the red digits as her mind gradually rose more fully to alertness. A low, irritated groan sounded from beside her then and she felt her arm being pulled once more beneath the bed clothes, her back landing flush against his chest, his arms completely encircling her. She grinned at his actions, happiness fluttering uncontrollably in her chest.

"Good morning." She said, placing a gentle kiss on his forearm, enjoying the slight tickle of his hair against her mouth.

"Morning." He mumbled against her neck, his voice still thick with sleep, his naked body comfortingly warm as it held hers tightly.

"It's almost eight o'clock, you know." She said softly. "Hadn't we better be getting up for work?"

He groaned again, pulling her ever closer towards him, letting her feel his readiness. "I can think of something I'd much rather do..."

She laughed. "Did I go to bed with Peter Boyd and wake up with an alien? I can't believe there's anything you'd rather do than go to work."

"Well, stay here for five minutes and let me show you..."

"Five minutes? Boyd, really..."

He laughed, his breath warm against her skin. "I could probably manage ten, you know. Even at my advanced age."

"Oh, I know. I got a pretty good idea about that last night, as it happens."

"Not bad for a couple of out-of-practice old-timers, eh?"

"I don't have any complaints."

She smiled, recalling the events of the previous night with a warm glow, their love-making tender and intensely pleasurable, an intimacy surrounding his touch that she had only ever felt before with her late husband. _God, I'm so in love, it's sickening, _she thought as her grin widened.

"Besides," He was saying, rolling over onto his back and moving her so that she lay against his chest. "you're not going anywhere. I don't want to see you for at least another couple of days."

"Oh, that's nice."

He rolled his eyes. "At work, I mean."

"I really am fine, you know. I could probably come back today."

"No. I'm putting my foot down, Grace."

She laughed loudly. "Don't get too used to that."

He groaned theatrically. "Please. I don't want to get into an argument about the pros and cons of trouser-wearing this early in our relationship, do you?"

Grace gasped in mock horror although she felt her heart leap at his sentence. "You used the r-word, Peter."

"Yes, I did. I _can_ be a grown-up sometimes, you know."

"When it suits you."

"Absolutely."

She smiled and stretched up to kiss him, revelling in their banter. "You should get moving." She said as she pulled away reluctantly. "Don't want the team thinking you're slacking off."

He looked down at her, grinning. "Is nagging par for the course, then?"

She returned his grin and shrugged. "You're the one who used the r-word. Gives me free licence to nag whenever I like."

"Oh, God, I'm getting up. Right now."

Grace laughed as he threw back the covers and rose swiftly from the bed, watching his naked form appreciatively as he walked towards the bathroom and turned on the shower. She gave a contented sigh as she settled back down under the tangle of bed clothes, her mind settling on her plans for the day before being distracted once more by notions of Boyd. _I can't believe all it took was four years and one of us nearly dying to work out what we wanted... _She sobered slightly at the thought but forced the maudlin feelings to the pit of her stomach._ Well, better late than never, I suppose. _The grin that spread slowly across her features remained firmly in place for the rest of the day.

FIN


End file.
